POEMS  BY  THE  WAY. 


POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

WRITTEN  BY  WILLIAM 

MORRIS. 


PUBLISHED    BY   ROBERTS   BROTHERS, 

AT   THEIR   HOUSE,   3    SOMERSET 

STREET,   BOSTON,    1892. 


SSnibersitg  ^itss: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


UNIVERSITY  OP  CALIFOR 
r  r\  SANTA  BARBARA 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

From  the  Upland  to  the  Sea i 

Of  the  Wooing  of  Hallbiorn  the  Strong 3 

Echoes  of  Love's  House 13 

The  Bnrghers'  Battle 13 

Hope  Dieth  :  Love  Liveth 15 

Error  and  Loss 17 

The  Hall  and  the  Wood 19 

The  Day  of  Days 26 

To  the  Muse  of  the  North 27 

Of  the  Three  Seekers 28 

Love's  Gleaning-Tide 32 

The  Message  of  the  March  Wind 33 

A  Death  Song 36 

Iceland  First  Seen 37 

The  Raven  and  the  King's  Daughter 40 

Spring's  Bedfellow 46 

Meeting  in   Winter 47 

The  Two  Sides  of  the  River 49 

Love  Fulfilled 53 

The  King  of  Denmark' s  Sons 54 

On  the  Edge  of  the   Wilderness 62 

A  Garden  by  the  Sea 66 

Mother  and  Son 67 

Thunder  in  the  Garden 75 

The  God  of  the  Poor T] 

Love's  Reward 88 

The  Folk-Mote  by  the  River 94 

The  Voice  of  Toil 104 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Page 

Gunnar''s  Howe  above  the  House  at  Lithend io6 

Tlie  Day  is  Corning 107 

Earth  the  Healer,  Earth  the  Keeper 112 

All  for  the  Cause 115 

Pain  and  Time  Strive  Not 118 

Drawing  near  the  Light 119 

Verses  for  Pictures 119 

p'or  the  Briar-Rose 121 

Another  for  the  Briar-Rose 121 

The  Woodpecker 122 

The  Lion 122 

The  Forest 123 

Pomona 123 

Flora 123 

The  Orchard 124 

Tapestry  Trees 124 

The  Flowering  Orchard 126 

The  End  of  May 126 

The  Half  of  Life  Gone 127 

Mine  and  Thine I34 

The  Lay  of  Christine I3S 

Hildebrand  and  Hellelil I37 

The  Son's  Sorrow 141 

Agnes  and  the  Hill-Man I43 

Knight  Aagen  and  Maiden  Else I44 

Hafbtir  and  Signy 14S 

Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks 163 


HERE  BEGIN  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY. 
WRITTEN  BY  WILLIAM  MORRIS. 
AND  FIRST  IS  THE  POEM  CALLED 
FROM  THE  UPLAND  TO  THE  SEA. 

SHALL  we  wake  one  morn  of  spring, 
Glad  at  heart  of  everything, 
Yet  pensive  with  the  thought  of  eve  ? 
Then  the  white  house  shall  we  leave. 
Pass  the  wind-flowers  and  the  bays, 
Through  the  garth,  and  go  our  ways, 
Wandering  down  among  the  meads 
Till  our  very  joyance  needs 
Rest  at  last;    till  we  shall  come 
To  that  Sun-god's  lonely  home, 
Lonely  on  the  hill-side  grey, 
Whence  the  sheep  have  gone  away ; 
Lonely  till  the  feast-time  is. 
When  with  prayer  and  praise  of  bliss. 
Thither  comes  the  country  side. 
There  awhile  shall  we  abide. 
Sitting  low  down  in  the  porch 
By  that  image  with  the  torch : 
Thy  one  white  hand  laid  upon 
The  black  pillar  that  was  won 
From  the  far-off  Indian  mine; 
And  my  hand  nigh  touching  thine. 
But  not  touching;   and  thy  gown 


2  FROM  THE   UPLAND    TO   THE  SEA. 

Fair  with  spring-flowers  cast  adown 

From  thy  bosom  and  thy  brow. 

There  the  south-west  wind  shall  blow 

Through  thine  hair  to  reach  my  cheek, 

As  thou  sittest,  nor  mayst  speak, 

Nor  mayst  move  the  hand  I  kiss 

For  the  very  depth  of  bliss  ; 

Nay,  nor  turn  thine  eyes  to  me. 

Then  desire  of  the  great  sea 

Nigh  enow,  but  all  unheard, 

In  the  hearts  of  us  is  stirred, 

And  we  rise,  we  twain  at  last, 

And  the  daffodils  downcast. 

Feel  thy  feet  and  we  are  gone 

From  the  lonely  Sun-Crowned  one. 
/Then  the  meads  fade  at  our  back, 
\  And  the  spring  day  'gins  to  lack 

That  fresh  hope  that  once  it  had  ; 

But  we  twain  grow  yet  more  glad. 

And  apart  no  more  may  go 
I    When  the  grassy  slope  and  low 

.Dieth  in  the  shingly  sand: 
/  Then  we  wander  hand  in  hand 
\   By  the  edges  of  the  sea, 
.■   And  I  weary  more  for  thee 
\  Than  if  far  apart  we  were, 
,  With  a  space  of  desert  drear 
i  'Twixt  thy  lips  and  mine,  O  love! 
\  Ah,  my  joy,  my  joy  thereof! 


THE    WOOING   OF  HALLBIORN.  3 

OF  THE  WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN  THE 
STRONG.  A  STORY  FROM  THE  LAND- 
SETTLING  BOOK  OF  ICELAND,  CHAPTER 
XXX. 

AT  Deildar-Tongue  In  the  autumn-tide, 
So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again^ 
Stood  Odd  of  Tongue  his  door  beside. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 
Dim  and  dusk  the  day  was  grown. 
As  he  heard  his  folded  v/ethers  moan. 
Then  through  the  garth  a  man  drew  near, 
With  painted  shield  and  gold-wrought  spear. 
Good  was  his  horse  and  grand  his  gear, 
And  his  girths  were  wet  with  Whitewater. 
"  Hail,  Master  Odd,  live  blithe  and  long ! 
How  fare  the  folk  at  Deildar-Tongue  ?  " 
"All  hail,  thou  Hallbiorn  the  Strong! 
How  fare  the  folk  by  the  Brothers'-Tongue  ?  " 
"  Meat  have  we  there,  and  drink  and  fire. 
Nor  lack  all  things  that  we  desire. 
But  by  the  other  Whitewater 
Of  Hallgerd  many  a  tale  we  hear." 
"  Tales  enow  may  my  daughter  make 
If  too  many  words  be  said  for  her  sake." 
"What  saith  thine  heart  to  a  word  of  mine. 
That  I  deem  thy  daughter  fair  and  fine  ? 
Fair  and  fine  for  a  bride  is  she. 
And  I  fain  would  have  her  home  v/ith  me." 


4  THE    WOOING   OF  HALLBIORN. 

"  Full  many  a  word  that  at  noon  goes  forth 

Comes  home  at  even  little  worth. 

Now  winter  treadeth  on  autumn-tide, 

So  here  till  the  spring  shalt  thou  abide. 

Then  if  thy  mind  be  changed  no  whit. 

And  ye  still  will  wed,  see  ye  to  it ! 

And  on  the  first  of  summer  days, 

A  wedded  man,  ye  may  go  your  ways. 

Yet  look,  howso  the  thing  will  fall. 

My  hand  shall  meddle  nought  at  all. 

Lo,  now  the  night  and  rain  draweth  up. 

And  within  doors  glimmer  stoop  and  cup. 

And  hark,  a  little  sound  I  know. 

The  laugh  of  Snaebiorn's  fiddle-bow, 

My  sister's  son,  and  a  craftsman  good, 

When  the  red  rain  drives  through  the  iron  wood." 

Hallbiorn  laughed,  and  followed  in. 

And  a  merry  feast  there  did  begin. 

Hallgerd's  hands  undid  his  weed, 

Hallgerd's  hands  poured  out  the  mead. 

Her  fingers  at  his  breast  he  felt. 

As  her  hair  fell  down  about  his  belt. 

Her  fingers  with  the  cup  he  took. 

And  o'er  its  rim  at  her  did  look. 

Cold  cup,  warm  hand,  and  fingers  slim, 

Before  his  eyes  were  waxen  dim. 

And  if  the  feast  were  foul  or  fair. 

He  knew  not,  save  that  she  was  there. 

He  knew  not  if  men  laughed  or  wept. 


THE    WOOING   OF  HALLBIORN. 

While  still  'twixt  wall  and  dais  she  stept. 
Whether  she  went  or  stood  that  eve, 
Not  once  his  eyes  her  face  did  leave. 
But  Snaebiorn  laughed  and  Snaebiorn  sang, 
And  sweet  his  smitten  fiddle  rang. 
And  Hallgerd  stood  beside  him  there, 
So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again. 
Nor  ever  once  he  turned  to  her. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


Master  Odd  on  the  morrow  spake, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 

"Hearken,  O  guest,  if  ye  be  awake," 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 

*'  Sure  ye  champions  of  the  south 

Speak  many  things  from  a  silent  mouth. 

And  thine,  meseems,  last  night  did  pray 

That  ye  might  well  be  wed  to-day. 

The  year's  ingathering  feast  it  is, 

A  goodly  day  to  give  thee  bliss. 

Come  hither,  daughter,  fine  and  fair. 

Here  is  a  wooer  from  Whitewater. 

East  away  hath  he  gotten  fame, 

And  his  father's  name  is  e'en  my  name. 

Will  ye  lay  hand  within  his  hand. 

That  blossoming  fair  our  house  may  stand  ?  " 

She  laid  her  hand  within  his  hand  ; 


6  THE    WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN. 

White  she  was  as  the  lily  wand. 

Low  sang  Snsebiorn's  brand  in  its  sheath, 

And  his  lips  were  waxen  grey  as  death. 

"  Snaebiorn,  sing  us  a  song  of  worth, 

If  your  song  must  be  silent  from  now  henceforth." 

Clear  and  loud  his  voice  outrang, 

And  a  song  of  worth  at  the  wedding  he  sang. 

"Sharp  sword,"  he  sang,  "and  death  is  sure." 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 

"But  love  doth  over  all  endure." 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


Now  winter  cometh  and  weareth  away. 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again. 

And  glad  is  Hallbiorn  many  a  day. 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 

Full  soft  he  lay  his  love  beside; 

But  dark  are  the  days  of  wintertide. 

Dark  are  the  days,  and  the  nights  are  long, 

And  sweet  and  fair  was  Snaebiorn's  song. 

Many  a  time  he  talked  with  her. 

Till  they  deemed  the  summer-tide  was  there. 

And  they  forgat  the  wind-swept  ways 

And  angry  fords  of  the  flitting-days. 

While  the  north  wind  swept  the  hillside  there 

They  forgat  the  other  Whitewater. 

While  nights  at  Deildar-Tongue  were  long, 


THE    WOOING   OF  HALLBIORN. 


They  clean  forgat  the  Brother' s-Tongue. 
But  whatso  falleth  'twixt  Hell  and  Home, 
So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again^ 
Full  surely  again  shall  summer  come. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


To  Odd  spake  Hallbiorn  on  a  day 
So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again^ 
"  Gone  is  the  snow  from  everyway." 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  he  vain  ? 
Now  green  is  grown  Whitewater-side, 
And  I  to  Whitewater  will  ride." 
Quoth  Odd,  "  Well  fare  thou  winter-guest. 
May  thine  own  Whitewater  be  best. 
Well  is  a  man's  purse  better  at  home 
Than  open  where  folk  go  and  come." 
"Come  ye  carles  of  the  south  country. 
Now  shall  we  go  our  kin  to  see ! 
For  the  lambs  are  bleating  in  the  south, 
And  the  salmon  swims  towards  Olfus  mouth. 
Girth  and  graithe  and  gather  your  gear  ! 
And  ho  for  the  other  Whitewater !  " 
Bright  was  the  moon  as  bright  might  be, 
And  Snaebiorn  rode  to  the  north  country. 
And  Odd  to  Reykholt  is  gone  forth. 
To  see  if  his  mares  be  oug-ht  of  worth. 
But  Hallbiorn  into  the  bower  is  gone 


8  THE    WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN. 

And  there  sat  Hallgerd  all  alone. 

She  v/as  not  dight  to  go  nor  ride 

She  had  no  joy  of  the  summer-tide. 

Silent  she  sat  and  combed  her  hair, 

That  fell  all  round  about  her  there. 

The  slant  beam  lay  upon  her  head. 

And  gilt  her  golden  locks  to  red. 

He  gazed  at  her  with  hungry  eyes 

And  fluttering  did  his  heart  arise. 

"  Full  hot,"  he  said,  "  is  the  sun  to-day. 

And  the  snow  is  gone  from  the  mountain-way. 

The  king-cup  grows  above  the  grass, 

And  through  the  wood  do  the  thrushes  pass." 

Of  all  his  words  she  hearkened  none. 

But  combed  her  hair  amidst  the  sun. 

"  The  laden  beasts  stand  in  the  garth 

And  their  heads  are  turned  to  Helliskarth." 

The  sun  was  falling  on  her  knee. 

And  she  combed  her  gold  hair  silently. 

"  To-morrow  great  will  be  the  cheer 

At  the  Brothers'-Tongue  by  Whitev^ater." 

From  her  folded  lap  the  sunbeam  slid ; 

She  combed  her  hair,  and  the  word  she  hid. 

"  Come,  love;   is  the  way  so  long  and  drear 

From  Whitewater  to  Whitewater  ?  " 

The  sunbeam  lay  upon  the  floor  ; 

She  combed  her  hair  and  spake  no  more. 

He  drew  her  by  the  lily  hand: 

*'  I  love  thee  better  than  all  the  land." 


THE    WOOING   OF  HALLBIORN.  9 

He  drew  her  by  the  shoulders  sweet: 

"  My  threshold  is  but  for  thy  feet." 

He  drew  her  by  the  yellow  hair: 

"  O  why  wert  thou  so  deadly  fair? 

O  am  I  wedded  to  death  ?  "   he  cried, 

"Is  the  Dead-strand  come  to  Whitewater-side?" 

And  the  sun  was  fading  from  the  room, 

But  her  eyes  were  bright  in  the  change  and  the  gloom. 

"Sharp  sword,"  she  sang,  "and  death  is  sure, 

But  over  all  doth  love  endure." 

She  stood  up  shining  in  her  place 

And  laughed  beneath  his  deadly  face. 

Instead  of  the  sunbeam  gleamed  a  brand. 

The  hilts  were  hard  in  Hallbiorn's  hand  : 

The  bitter  point  was  in  Hallgerd's  breast 

That  Snagbiorn's  lips  of  love  had  pressed. 

Morn  and  noon,  and  nones  passed  o'er. 

And  the  sun  is  far  from  the  bower  door. 

To-morrow  morn  shall  the  sun  come  back, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again. 

But  Hallgerd's  feet  the  floor  shall  lack. 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


Now  Hallbiorn's  house-carles  ride  full  fast. 
So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again. 
Till  many  a  mile  of  way  is  past. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


JO  THE    WOOING   OF  HALLBIORN. 

But  when  they  came  over  Oxridges, 

'Twas,  *'  Where  shall  we  give  our  horses  ease?  " 

When  Shieldbroad-side  was  well  in  sight, 

'Twas,  "Where  shall  we  lay  our  heads  to-night?' 

Hallbiorn  turned  and  raised  his  head ; 

"  Under  the  stones  of  the  waste,"  he  said. 

Quoth  one,  "The  clatter  of  hoofs  anigh." 

Quoth  the  other,  "  Spears  against  the  sky  !  " 

*'  Hither  ride  men  from  the  Wells  apace ; 

Spur  we  fast  to  a  kindlier  place." 

Down  from  his  horse  leapt  Hallbiorn  straight: 

"Why  should  the  supper  of  Odin  wait? 

Weary  and  chased  I  will  not  come 

To  the  table  of  my  fathers'  home." 

With  that  came  Snasbiorn,  who  but  he. 

And  twelve  in  all  was  his  company. 

Snaebiorn's  folk  were  on  their  feet; 

He  spake  no  word  as  they  did  meet. 

They  fought  upon  the  northern  hill : 

Five  are  the  howes  men  see  there  still. 

Three  men  of  Snaebiorn's  fell  to  earth 

And  Hallbiorn's  twain  that  were  of  worth. 

And  never  a  word  did  Snaebiorn  say. 

Till  Hallbiorn's  foot  he  smote  away. 

Then  Hallbiorn  cried:    "Come,  fellow  of  mine, 

To  the  southern  bent  where  the  sun  doth  shine." 

Tottering  into  the  sun  he  went, 

And  slew  two  more  upon  the  bent. 

And  on  the  bent  where  dead  he  lay 


THE    WOOING   OF  HALLBIORN.  I  I 

Three  howes  do  men  behold  to-day. 
And  never  a  word  spake  Snasbiorn  yet, 
Till  in  his  saddle  he  was  set. 
Nor  was  there  any  heard  his  voice, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again^ 
Till  he  came  to  his  ship  in  Grimsar-oyce. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


On  so  fair  a  day  they  hoisted  sail, 
So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again^ 
And  for  Norway  well  did  the  wind  avail. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 
But  Snasbiorn  looked  aloft  and  said: 
*'  I  see  in  the  sail  a  stripe  of  red  : 
Murder,  meseems,  is  the  name  of  it 
And  ugly  things  about  it  flit. 
A  stripe  of  blue  in  the  sail  I  see: 
Cold  death  of  men  it  seems  to  me. 
And  next  I  see  a  stripe  of  black. 
For  a  life  fulfilled  of  bitter  lack." 
Quoth  one,  "  So  fair  a  wind  doth  blow 
That  we  shall  see  Norway  soon  enow." 
"  Be  blithe,  O  shipmate,"  Snasbiorn  said, 
"Tell  Hacon  the  Earl  that  I  be  dead." 
About  the  midst  of  the  Iceland  main 
Round  veered  the  wind  to  the  east  again. 
And  west  they  drave,  and  long  they  ran 


12  ECHOES  OF  LOVE'S  HOUSE. 

Till  they  saw  a  land  was  white  and  wan. 

"Yea,"  Snaebiorn  said,  "my  home  it  is. 

Ye  bear  a  man  shall  have  no  bliss. 

Far  off  beside  the  Greekish  sea 

The  maidens  pluck  the  grapes  in  glee. 

Green  groweth  the  wheat  in  the  English  land 

And  the  honey-bee  flieth  on  every  hand. 

In  Norway  by  the  cheaping  town 

The  laden  beasts  go  up  and  down. 

In  Iceland  many  a  mead  they  mow 

And  Hallgerd's  grave  grows  green  enow. 

But  these  are  Gunnbiorn's  skerries  wan 

Meet  harbour  for  a  hapless  man. 

In  all  lands  else  is  love  alive. 

But  here  is  nought  with  grief  to  strive. 

Fail  not  for  a  while,  O  eastern  wind. 

For  nought  but  grief  is  left  behind. 

And  before  me  here  a  rest  I  know," 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again^ 

"  A  grave  beneath  the  Greenland  snow," 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


ECHOES   OF   LOVE'S    HOUSE. 


L 


OVE  gives  every  gift  whereby  we  long  to  live ; 
"  Love  takes  every  gift,  and  nothing  back  doth 
give." 


THE  BURGHERS'  BATTLE. 


13 


Love  unlocks  the  lips  that  else  were  ever  dumb  : 
"  Love  locks  up  the  lips  whence  all  things  good  might 
come." 

Love  makes  clear  the  eyes  that  else  would  never  see  : 
"  Love  makes  blind  the  eyes  to  all  but  me  and  thee." 

Love  turns  life  to  joy  till  nought  is  left  to  gain  : 

"  Love  turns  life  to  woe  till  hope  is  nought  and  vain." 

Love,  who  changest  all,  change  me  nevermore  ! 
"Love, who  changest  all,  change  my  sorrow  sore  !  " 

Love  burns  up  the  world  to  changeless  heaven  and  blest, 
"  Love  burns  up  the  world  to  a  void  of  all  unrest." 

And  there  we  twain  are  left,  and  no  more  work  we  need: 
*'  And  I  am  left  alone,  and  who  my  work  shall  heed  ?  " 

Ah  !  I  praise  thee.  Love,  for  utter  joyance  won  ! 
*'And  is  my  praise  nought  worth  for  all  my  life  undone  ?" 

THE    BURGHERS'    BATTLE. 

THICK  rise  the  spear-shafts  o'er  the  land 
That  erst  the  harvest  bore; 
The  sword  is  heavy  in  the  hand, 
And  we  return  no  more. 
The  light  wind  waves  the  Ruddy  Fox, 
Our  banner  of  the  war. 
And  ripples  in  the  Running  Ox, 
And  we  return  no  more. 


14 


THE  BURGHERS'  BATTLE. 


Across  our  stubble  acres  now 

The  teams  go  four  and  four  ; 

But  out-worn  elders  guide  the  plough, 

And  we  return  no  more. 

And  now  the  women  heavy-eyed 

Turn  through  the  open  door 

From  gazing  down  the  highway  wide, 

Where  we  return  no  more. 

The  shadows  of  the  fruited  close 

Dapple  the  feast-hall  floor  ; 

There  lie  our  dogs  and  dream  and  doze, 

And  zve  return  no  more. 

Down  from  the  minster  tower  to-day 

Fall  the  soft  chimes  of  yore 

Amidst  the  chattering  jackdaws'  play  : 

And  we  return  no  more. 

But  underneath  the  streets  are  still  ; 

Noon,  and  the  market's  o'er ! 

Back  go  the  goodwives  o'er  the  hill ; 

For  we  return  no  more. 

What  merchant  to  our  gates  shall  come  ? 

What  wise  man  bring  us  lore  ? 

What  abbot  ride  away  to  Rome, 

Now  we  return  no  more  ? 

What  mayor  shall  rule  the  hall  we  built  ? 

Whose  scarlet  sweep  the  floor? 

What  judge  shall  doom  the  robber's  guilt. 

Now  we  return  no  more  ? 

New  houses  in  the  streets  shall  rise 


HOPE  DIETH:    LOVE  LIVETH.  1 5 

Where  builded  we  before, 

Of  other  stone  wrought  otherwise; 

For  we  return  no  more. 

And  crops  shall  cover  field  and  hill 

Unlike  what  once  they  bore, 

And  all  be  done  without  our  will, 

Now  we  return  no  more. 

Look  up  !  the  arrows  streak  the  sky, 

The  horns  of  battle  roar; 

The  long  spears  lower  and  draw  nigh. 

And  we  return  no  ?nore. 

Remember  how  beside  the  wain. 

We  spoke  the  word  of  war, 

And  sowed  this  harvest  of  the  plain, 

And  we  return  no  more. 

Lay  spears  about  the  Ruddy  Fox  ! 

The  days  of  old  are  o'er  ; 

Heave  sword  about  the  Running  Ox! 

For  we  return  no  more. 


HOPE    DIETH  :    LOVE    LIVETH, 


STRONG  are  thine  arms,  O  love,  &  strong 
Thine  heart  to  live,  and  love,  and  long; 
But  thou  art  wed  to  grief  and  wrong: 
Live,  then,  and  long,  though  hope  be  dead  ! 
Live  on,  &  labour  thro'  the  years  ! 
Make  pictures  through  the  mist  of  tears. 
Of  unforgotten  happy  fears. 


1 6  HOPE  DIETH:    LOVE  LIVETH. 

That  crossed  the  time  ere  hope  was  dead. 

Draw  near  the  place  where  once  we  stood 

Amid  delight's  swift-rushing  flood, 

And  we  and  all  the  world  seemed  good 

Nor  needed  hope  now  cold  and  dead. 

Dream  in  the  dawn  I  come  to  thee 

Weeping  for  things  that  may  not  be  ! 

Dream  that  thou  layest  lips  on  me  ! 

Wake,  wake  to  clasp  hope's  body  dead  ! 

Count  o'er  and  o'er,  and  one  by  one 

The  minutes  of  the  happy  sun 

That  while  agone  on  kissed  lips  shone, 

Count  on,  rest  not,  for  hope  is  dead. 

Weep,  though  no  hair's  breadth  thou  shalt  move 

The  living  Earth,  the  heaven  above 

Bv  all  the  bitterness  of  love! 

Weep  and  cease  not,  now  hope  is  dead  1 

Sighs  rest  thee  not,  tears  bring  no  ease, 

Life  hath  no  joy,  and  Death  no  peace  : 

The  years  change  not,  though  they  decrease, 

For  hope  is  dead,  for  hope  is  dead. 

Speak,  love,  I  listen  :    far  away 

I  bless  the  tremulous  lips,  that  say, 

"  Mock  not  the  afternoon  of  day. 

Mock  not  the  tide  when  hope  is  dead  !  " 

I  bless  thee,  O  my  love,  who  say'st : 

"  Mock  not  the  thistle-cumbered  waste; 

I  hold  Love's  hand,  and  make  no  haste 

Down  the  long  way,  now  hope  is  dead. 


ERROR  AND  LOSS. 


17 


With  other  names  do  we  name  pain, 
The  long  years  wear  our  hearts  in  vain. 
Mock  not  our  loss  grown  into  gain, 
Mock  not  our  lost  hope  lying  dead. 
Our  eyes  gaze  for  no  morning-star, 
No  glimmer  of  the  dawn  afar; 
Full  silent  wayfarers  we  are 
Since  ere  the  noon-tide  hope  lay  dead. 
Behold  with  lack  of  happiness 
The  master.  Love,  our  hearts  did  bless 
Lest  we  should  think  of  him  the  less: 
Love  dieth  not,  though  hope  is  dead  !  " 


ERROR    AND    LOSS. 

UPON  an  eve  I  sat  me  down  and  wept. 
Because  the  world  to  me  seemed  nowise  good; 
Still  autumn  was  it,  &  the  meadows  slept. 
The  misty  hills  dreamed,  and  the  silent  wood 
Seemed  listening  to  the  sorrow  of  my  mood: 
I  knew  not  if  the  earth  with  me  did  grieve, 
Or  if  it  mocked  my  grief  that  bitter  eve. 

Then  'twixt  my  tears  a  maiden  did  I  see. 
Who  drew  anigh  me  on  the  leaf-strewn  grass. 
Then  stood  and  gazed  upon  me  pitifully 
With  grief-worn  eyes,  until  my  woe  did  pass 
From  me  to  her,  and  tearless  now  I  was, 


1 8  ERROR  AND  LOSS. 

And  she  mid  tears  was  asking  me  of  one 
She  long  had  sought  unaided  and  alone. 

I  knew  not  of  him,  and  she  turned  away 

Into  the  dark  wood,  and  my  own  great  pain 

Still  held  me  there,  till  dark  had  slain  the  day, 

And  perished  at  the  grey  dawn's  hand  again  ; 

Then  from  the  wood  a  voice  cried:   "Ah,  in  vain, 

In  vain  I  seek  thee,  O  thou  bitter-sweet ! 

In  what  lone  land  are  set  thy  longed-for  feet  ?  " 

Then  I  looked  up,  and  lo,  a  man  there  came 
From  midst  the  trees,  and  stood  regarding  me 
Until  my  tears  were  dried  for  very  shame; 
Then  he  cried  out:   "  O  mourner,  where  is  she 
Whom  I  have  sought  o'er  every  land  and  sea? 
I  love  her  and  she  loveth  me,  and  still 
We  meet  no  more  than  green  hill  meeteth  hill." 

With  that  he  passed  on  sadly,  and  I  knew 
That  these  had  met  and  missed  in  the  dark  night. 
Blinded  by  blindness  of  the  world  untrue, 
That  hideth  love  and  maketh  wrong  of  right. 
Then  midst  my  pity  for  their  lost  delight. 
Yet  more  with  barren  longing  I  grew  weak, 
Yet  more  I  mourned  that  I  had  none  to  seek. 


THE  HALL  AND    THE    WOOD.  1 9 


THE    HALL   AND    THE   WOOD. 

'/T^  WAS  in  the  water-dwindling  tide 

X       When  July  days  were  done, 
Sir  Rafe  of  Greenhowes,  'gan  to  ride 
In  the  earliest  of  the  sun. 

He  left  the  white-walled  burg  behind, 
He  rode  amidst  the  wheat. 
The  westland-gotten  wind  blew  kind 
Across  the  acres  sweet. 

Then  rose  his  heart  and  cleared  his  brow. 
And  slow  he  rode  the  way  : 
*' As  then  it  was,  so  is  it  now. 
Not  all  hath  worn  away." 

So  came  he  to  the  long  green  lane 
That  leadeth  to  the  ford, 
And  saw  the  sickle  by  the  wain 
Shine  bright  as  any  sword. 

The  brown  carles  stayed  'twixt  draught  and  draught, 

And  murmuring,  stood  aloof, 

But  one  spake  out  when  he  had  laughed : 

"  God  bless  the  Green-wood  Roof!  " 

Then  o'er  the  ford  and  up  he  fared : 
And  lo  the  happy  hills  ! 
And  the  mountain-dale  by  summer  cleared. 
That  oft  the  winter  fills. 


20  THE  HALL  AND    THE    WOOD. 

Then  forth  he  rode  by  Peter's  gate. 
And  smiled  and  said  aloud: 
*'  No  more  a  day  doth  the  Prior  wait; 
White  stands  the  tower  and  proud." 

There  leaned  a  knight  on  the  gateway  side 
In  armour  white  and  wan. 
And  after  the  heels  of  the  horse  he  cried, 
"  God  keep  the  hunted  man  !  " 

Then  quoth  Sir  Rafe,  "Amen,  amen  1  " 
For  he  deemed  the  word  was  good ; 
But  never  a  while  he  lingered  then 
Till  he  reached  the  Nether  Wood. 


He  rode  by  ash,  he  rode  by  oak. 

He  rode  the  thicket  round, 

And  heard  no  woodman  strike  a  stroke. 

No  wandering  wife  he  found. 

He  rode  the  wet,  he  rode  the  dry. 
He  rode  the  grassy  glade: 
At  Wood-end  yet  the  sun  was  high, 
And  his  heart  was  unafraid. 

There  on  the  bent  his  rein  he  drew. 
And  looked  o'er  field  and  fold, 
O'er  all  the  merry  meads  he  knew 
Beneath  the  mountains  old. 


THE  HALL  AND    THE    WOOD.  21 

He  gazed  across  to  the  good  Green  Howe 
As  he  smelt  the  sun-warmed  sward  ; 
Then  his  face  grew  pale  from  chin  to  brow. 
And  he  cried,  "  God  save  the  sword  !  " 

For  there  beyond  the  winding  way. 
Above  the  orchards  green, 
Stood  up  the  ancient  gables  gray 
With  ne'er  a  roof  between. 

His  naked  blade  in  hand  he  had, 

O'er  rough  and  smooth  he  rode, 

Till  he  stood  where  once  his  heart  was  glad 

Amidst  his  old  abode. 


Across  the  hearth  a  tie-beam  lay 
Unmoved  a  weary  while. 
The  flame  that  clomb  the  ashlar  gray 
Had  burned  it  red  as  tile. 

The  sparrows  bickering  on  the  floor 
Fled  at  his  entering  in  ; 
The  swift  flew  past  the  empty  door 
His  winged  meat  to  win. 

Red  apples  from  the  tall  old  tree 
O'er  the  wall's  rent  were  shed. 
Thence  oft,  a  little  lad,  would  he 
Look  down  upon  the  lead. 


2  2  THE  HALL  AND    THE    WOOD. 

There  turned  the  cheeping  chaffinch  now 
And  feared  no  birding  child  ; 
Through  the  shot-window  thrust  a  bough 
Of  garden-rose  run  wild. 

He  looked  to  right,  he  looked  to  left, 
And  down  to  the  cold  gray  hearth, 
Where  lay  an  axe  with  half  burned  heft 
Amidst  the  ashen  dearth. 

He  caught  it  up  and  cast  it  wide 
Against  the  gable  wall ; 
Then  to  the  dais  did  he  stride. 
O'er  beam  and  bench  and  all. 

Amidst  there  yet  the  high-seat  stood. 
Where  erst  his  sires  had  sat; 
And  the  mighty  board  of  oaken  wood. 
The  fire  had  stayed  thereat. 

Then  through  the  red  wrath  of  his  eyne 
He  saw  a  sheathed  sword. 
Laid  thwart  that  wasted  field  of  wine. 
Amidmost  of  the  board. 

And  by  the  hilts  a  slug-horn  lay. 
And  therebeside  a  scroll, 
He  caught  it  up  and  turned  away 
From  the  lea-land  of  the  bowl. 

Then  with  the  sobbing  grief  he  strove. 
For  he  saw  his  name  thereon ; 


THE  HALL  AND    THE    WOOD.  23 

And  the  heart  within  his  breast  uphove 
As  the  pen's  tale  now  he  won. 

"  O  Rafe,  my  love  of  long  ago  ! 
Draw  forth  thy  father's  blade, 
And  blow  the  horn  for  friend  and  foe, 
And  the  good  green-wood  to  aid  !  " 

He  turned  and  took  the  slug-horn  up. 
And  set  it  to  his  mouth, 
And  o'er  that  meadow  of  the  cup 
Blew  east  and  west  and  south. 

He  drew  the  sword  from  out  the  sheath 
And  shook  the  fallow  brand  ; 
And  there  a  while  with  bated  breath. 
And  hearkening  ear  did  stand. 

Him-seemed  the  horn's  voice  he  might  hear  — 
Or  the  wind  that  blew  o'er  all. 
Him-seerned  that  footsteps  drew  anear  — 
Or  the  boughs  shook  round  the  hall. 

Him-seemed  he  heard  a  voice  he  knew  — 

Or  a  dream  of  while  agone. 

Him-seemed  bright  raiment  towards  him  drew  — 

Or  bright  the  sun-set  shone. 


She  stood  before  him  face  to  face, 
With  the  sun-beam  thwart  her  hand. 


24  THE  HALL  AND    THE    WOOD. 

As  on  the  gold  of  the  Holy  Place 
The  painted  angels  stand. 

With  many  a  kiss  she  closed  his  eyes ; 
She  kissed  him  cheek  and  chin : 
E'en  so  in  the  painted  Paradise 
Are  Earth's  folk  welcomed  in. 

There  in  the  door  the  green-coats  stood, 
O'er  the  bows  went  up  the  cry, 
"  O  welcome,  Rafe,  to  the  free  green-wood, 
With  us  to  live  and  die." 

It  was  bill  and  bow  by  the  high-seat  stood, 
And  they  cried  above  the  bows, 
"  Now  welcome,  Rafe,  to  the  good  green- wood. 
And  welcome  Kate  the  Rose !  " 


White,  white  in  the  moon  is  the  woodland  plash. 
White  is  the  woodland  glade. 
Forth  wend  those  twain,  from  oak  to  ash. 
With  light  hearts  unafraid. 

The  summer  moon  high  o'er  the  hill, 
All  silver-white  is  she, 

And  Sir  Rafe's  good  men  with  bow  and  bill. 
They  go  by  two  and  three. 

In  the  fair  green-wood  where  lurks  no  fear. 
Where  the  King's  writ  runneth  not. 


THE  HALL  AND    THE    WOOD. 

There  dwell  they,  friends  and  fellows  dear, 
While  summer  days  are  hot. 

And  when  the  leaf  from  the  oak-tree  falls. 
And  winds  blow  rough  and  strong, 
With  the  carles  of  the  woodland  thorps  and  halls 
They  dwell,  and  fear  no  wrong. 

And  there  the  merry  yule  they  make, 
And  see  the  winter  wane. 
And  fain  are  they  for  true-love's  sake. 
And  the  folk  thereby  are  fain. 

For  the  ploughing  carle  and  the  straying  herd 

Flee  never  for  Sir  Rafe : 

No  barefoot  maiden  wends  afeard. 

And  she  deems  the  thicket  safe. 

But  sore  adread  do  the  chapmen  ride  ; 
Wide  round  the  wood  they  go ; 
And  the  judge  and  the  sergeants  wander  wide, 
Lest  they  plead  before  the  bow. 

Well  learned  and  wise  is  Sir  Rafe's  good  sword, 

And  straight  the  arrows  fly, 

And  they  find  the  coat  of  many  a  lord. 

And  the  crest  that  rideth  high. 


25 


26  THE  DA  V  OF  DA  VS. 


THE   DAY   OF    DAYS. 

EACH  eve  earth  falleth  down  the  dark, 
As  though  its  hope  were  o'er; 
Yet  lurks  the  sun  when  day  is  done 
Behind  to-morrow's  door. 

Grey  grows  the  dawn  while  men-folk  sleep, 
Unseen  spreads  on  the  light, 
Till  the  thrush  sings  to  the  coloured  things. 
And  earth  forgets  the  night. 

No  otherwise  wends  on  our  Hope: 
E'en  as  a  tale  that's  told 
Are  fair  lives  lost,  and  all  the  cost 
Of  wise  and  true  and  bold. 

We've  toiled  and  failed;   we  spake  the  word; 
None  hearkened  ;   dumb  we  lie  ; 
Our  Hope  is  dead,  the  seed  we  spread 
Fell  o'er  the  earth  to  die. 

What's  this  ?     For  joy  our  hearts  stand  still. 
And  life  is  loved  and  dear, 
The  lost  and  found  the  Cause  hath  crowned. 
The  Day  of  Days  is  here. 


TO   THE  MUSE  OF  THE  NORTH.  27 


TO    THE    MUSE    OF   THE    NORTH. 

OMUSE  that  swayest  the  sad  Northern  Song, 
Thy  right  hand  full  of  smiting  &  of  wrong, 
Thy  left  hand  holding  pity ;   &  thy  breast 
Heaving  with  hope  of  that  so  certain  rest: 
Thou,  with  the  grey  eyes  kind  and  unafraid. 
The  soft  lips  trembling  not,  though  they  have  said 
The  doom  of  the  World  and  those  that  dwell  therein. 
The  lips  that  smile  not  though  thy  children  win 
The  fated  Love  that  draws  the  fated  Death. 
O,  borne  adown  the  fresh  stream  of  thy  breath, 
Let  some  word  reach  my  ears  and  touch  my  heart, 
That,  if  it  may  be,  I  may  have  a  part 
In  that  great  sorrow  of  thy  children  dead 
That  vexed  the  brow,  and  bowed  adown  the  head. 
Whitened  the  hair,  made  life  a  wondrous  dream, 
And  death  the  murmur  of  a  restful  stream. 
But  left  no  stain  upon  those  souls  of  thine 
Whose  greatness  through  the  tangled  world  doth  shine. 
O  Mother,  and  Love  and  Sister  all  in  one. 
Come  thou  ;   for  sure  I  am  enough  alone 
That  thou  thine  arms  about  my  heart  shouldst  throw, 
And  wrap  me  in  the  grief  of  long  ago. 


28  OF  THE    THREE  SEEKERS. 


OF   THE   THREE   SEEKERS. 

THERE  met  three  knights  on  the  woodland  way, 
And  the  first  was  clad  in  silk  array : 
The  second  was  dight  in  iron  and  steel, 
But  the  third  was  rags  from  head  to  heel. 
*'  Lo,  now  is  the  year  and  the  day  come  round 
When  we  must  tell  what  we  have  found." 
The  first  said :   "  I  have  found  a  king 
Who  grudgeth  no  gift  of  anything." 
The  second  said  :    "  I  have  found  a  knight 
Who  hath  never  turned  his  back  in  fight." 
But  the  third  said :    "  I  have  found  a  love 
That  Time  and  the  World  shall  never  move." 


Whither  away  to  win  good  cheer  .f* 

"With  me,"  said  the  first,  "for  my  king  is  near." 

So  to  the  King  they  went  their  ways; 

But  there  was  a  change  of  times  and  days. 

"What  men  are  ye,"  the  great  King  said, 

"  That  ye  should  eat  my  children's  bread  ? 

My  waste  has  fed  full  many  a  store, 

And  mocking  and  grudge  have  I  gained  therefore. 

Whatever  waneth  as  days  wax  old. 

Full  worthy  to  win  are  goods  and  gold." 


OF  THE    THREE  SEEKERS.  29 

Whither  away  to  win  good  cheer  ? 

"With  me,"  said  the  second,  "my  knight  is  near." 

So  to  the  knight  they  went  their  ways, 

But  there  was  a  change  of  times  and  days. 

He  dwelt  in  castle  sure  and  strong, 

For  fear  lest  aught  should  do  him  wrong. 

Guards  by  gate  and  hall  there  were, 

And  folk  went  in  and  out  in  fear. 

When  he  heard  the  mouse  run  in  the  wall, 

"  Hist  !  "  he  said,  "  what  next  shall  befal  ? 

Draw  not  near,  speak  under  your  breath. 

For  all  new-comers  tell  of  death. 

Bring  me  no  song  nor  minstrelsy. 

Round  death  it  babbleth  still,"  said  he. 

"And  what  is  fame  and  the  praise  of  men, 

When  lost  life  cometh  not  again  ?  " 


Whither  away  to  seek  good  cheer.? 

"  Ah  me  !  "  said  the  third,  "  that  my  love  were  anear  ! 

Were  the  world  as  little  as  it  is  wide. 

In  a  happy  house  should  ye  abide. 

Were  the  world  as  kind  as  it  is  hard, 

Ye  should  behold  a  fair  reward." 


30 


OF  THE    THREE  SEEKERS. 


So  far  by  high  and  low  have  they  gone, 

They  have  come  to  a  waste  was  rock  and  stone. 

But  lo,  from  the  waste,  a  company 

Full  well  bedight  came  riding  by ; 

And  in  the  midst,  a  queen,  so  fair. 

That  God  wrought  well  in  making  her. 

The  first  and  second  knights  abode 

To  gaze  upon  her  as  she  rode. 

Forth  passed  the  third  with  head  down  bent, 

And  stumbling  ever  as  he  went. 

His  shoulder  brushed  her  saddle-bow; 

He  trembled  with  his  head  hung  low. 

His  hand  brushed  o'er  her  golden  gown. 

As  on  the  waste  he  fell  adown. 

So  swift  to  earth  her  feet  she  set. 

It  seemed  that  there  her  arms  he  met. 

His  lips  that  looked  the  stone  to  meet 

Were  on  her  trembling  lips  and  sweet. 

Softly  she  kissed  him  cheek  and  chin. 

His  mouth  her  many  tears  drank  in. 

"  Where  would'st  rhou  wander,  love,"  she  said, 

"  Now  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead  ?  " 

"  I  go  my  ways,"  he  said,  "  and  thine 

Have  nought  to  do  with  grief  and  pine." 

"  All  ways  are  one  way  now,"  she  said, 

"  Since  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead." 

Said  he,  "  But  I  must  seek  again 

Where  first  I  met  thee  in  thy  pain : 

I  am  not  clad  so  fair,"  said  he, 


OF  THE    THREE  SEEKEKS.  3 1 

"  But  yet  the  old  hurts  thou  may'st  see. 

And  thou,  but  for  thy  gown  of  gold, 

A  piteous  tale  of  thee  were  told." 

"  There  is  no  pain  on  earth,"  she  said, 

*'  Since  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead." 

"And  parting  waiteth  for  us  there," 

Said  he,  "  As  it  was  yester-year." 

*'  Yet  first  a  space  of  love,"  she  said, 

"  Since  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead." 

He  laughed;   said  he,  "  Hast  thou  a  home 

Where  I  and  these  my  friends  may  come .'' " 

Laughing,  "The  world's  my  home,"  she  said, 

"  Now  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead. 

Yet  somewhere  is  a  space  thereof 

Where  I  may  dwell  beside  my  love. 

There  clear  the  river  grows  for  him 

Till  o'er  its  stones  his  keel  shall  swim. 

There  faint  the  thrushes  in  their  song, 

And  deem  he  tarrieth  overlong. 

There  summer-tide  is  waiting  now 

Until  he  bids  the  roses  blow. 

Come,  tell  my  flowery  fields,"  she  said, 

"  How  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead." 


Whither  away  to  win  good  cheer  ? 

"  With  me,"  he  said,  "  for  my  love  is  here. 

The  wealth  of  my  house  it  waneth  not ; 


32 


LOVE'S  CLEANING-TIDE. 


No  gift  it  giveth  is  forgot. 

No  fear  my  house  may  enter  in, 

For  nought  is  there  that  death  may  win. 

Now  life  is  little,  and  death  is  not. 

Since  all  is  found  that  erst  I  sought." 


LOVE'S   GLEANING-TIDE. 

DRAW  not  away  thy  hands,  my  love. 
With  wind  alone  the  branches  move, 
And  though  the  leaves  be  scant  above 
The  Autumn  shall  not  shame  us. 

Say ;   Let  the  world  wax  cold  and  drear, 
What  is  the  worst  of  all  the  year 
But  life,  and  what  can  hurt  us,  dear, 
Or  death,  and  who  shall  blame  us  ? 

Ah,  when  the  summer  comes  again 
How  shall  we  say,  we  sowed  in  vain  } 
The  root  was  joy,  the  stem  was  pain. 
The  ear  a  nameless  blending. 

The  root  is  dead  and  gone,  my  love. 
The  stem's  a  rod  our  truth  to  prove; 
The  ear  is  stored  for  nought  to  move 
Till  heaven  and  earth  have  ending. 


THE  MESSAGE   OF  THE  MARCH  WIND. 


33 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  MARCH  WIND. 

FAIR  now  is   the   springtide,   now   earth  lies  be- 
holding 
With  the  eyes  of  a  lover,  the  face  of  the  sun  ; 
Long  lasteth  the  daylight,  and  hope  is  enfolding 
The  green-growing  acres  with  increase  begun. 

Now  sweet,  sweet  it  is  through  the  land  to  be  straying 
'Mid  the  birds  and  the  blossoms  and  the  beasts  of  the 

field; 
Love  mingles  with  love,  and  no  evil  is  weighing 
On  thy  heart  or  mine,  where  all  sorrow  is  healed. 

From  township  to  township,  o'er  down  and  by  tillage 
Fair,  far  have  we  wandered  and  long  was  the  day  ; 
But  now  cometh  eve  at  the  end  of  the  village. 
Where  over  the  grey  wall  the  church  riseth  grey. 

There  is  wind  in  the  twilight ;  in  the  white  road  before  us 
The  straw  from  the  ox-yard  is  blowing  about ; 
The  moon's  rim  is  rising,  a  star  glitters  o'er  us. 
And  the  vane  on  the  spire-top  is  swinging  in  doubt. 

Down  there  dips  the  highway,  toward  the  bridge  crossing 

over 
The  brook  that  runs  on  to  the  Thames  and  the  sea. 
Draw  closer,  my  sweet,  we  are  lover  and  lover ; 
This  eve  art  thou  given  to  gladness  and  me. 

Shall  we  be  glad  always  1     Come  closer  and  hearken  : 
Three  fields  further  on,  as  they  told  me  down  there, 

3 


34  THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  MARCH  WIND. 

When  the  young  moon  has  set,  if  the  March  sky  should 

darken, 
We  might  see  from  the  hill-top  the  great  city's  glare. 

Hark,  the  wind  in  the  elm-boughs  !   from  London  it 

bloweth. 
And  telleth  of  gold,  and  of  hope  and  unrest; 
Of  power  that  helps  not;   of  wisdom  that  knoweth, 
But  teacheth  not  aught  of  the  worst  and  the  best. 

Of  the  rich  men  it  telleth,  and  strange  is  the    sory 
How  they  have,  and  they  hanker,  and  grip  far  and  wide; 
And  they  live  and  they  die,  and  the  earth  and  its  glory 
Has  been  but  a  burden  they  scarce  might  abide. 

Hark!   the  March  wind  again  of  a  people  is  telling; 
Of  the  life  that  they  live  there,  so  haggard  and  grim, 
That  if  we  and  our  love  amidst  them  had  been  dwelling 
My  fondness  had  faltered,  thy  beauty  grown  dim. 

This  land  we  have  loved  in  our  love  and  our  leisure 
For  them  hangs  in  heaven,  high  out  of  their  reach; 
The  wide  hills  o'er  the  sea-plain  for  them  have  no  plea- 
sure. 
The  grey  homes  of  their  fathers  no  story  to  teach. 

The  singers  have  sung  and  the  builders  have  builded. 
The  painters  have  fashioned  their  tales  of  delight; 
For  what  and  for  whom  hath  the  world's  book  been 

gilded. 
When  all  is  for  these  but  the  blackness  of  night? 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  MARCH  WIND.  35 

How  long,  and  for  what  is  their  patience  abiding  ? 
How  oft  and  how  oft  shall  their  story  be  told. 
While  the  hope  that  none  seeketh  in  darkness  is  hiding, 
And  in  grief  and  in  sorrow  the  world  groweth  old? 


Come  back  to  the  inn,  love,  and  the  lights  and  the  fire, 
And  the  fiddler's  old  tune  and  the  shuffling  of  feet ; 
For  there  in  a  while  shall  be  rest  and  desire, 
And  there  shall  the  morrow's  uprising  be  sweet. 

Yet,  love,  as  we  wend,  the  wind  bloweth  behind  us, 
And  beareth  the  last  tale  it  telleth  to-night, 
How  here  in  the  spring-tide  the  message  shall  find  us  ; 
For  the  hope  that  none  seeketh  is  coming  to  light. 

Like  the  seed  of  midwinter,  unheeded,  unperished. 
Like  the  autumn-sown  wheat 'neath  the  snowlyinggreen, 
Like  the  love  that  o'ertook  us,  unawares  and  uncherished, 
Like  the  babe  'neath  thy  girdle  that  groweth  unseen ; 

So  the  hope  of  the  people  now  buddeth  and  groweth, 
Rest  fadeth  before  it,  and  blindness  and  fear ; 
It  biddeth  us  learn  all  the  wisdom  it  knoweth ; 
It  hath  found  us  and  held  us,  and  biddeth  us  hear: 

For  it  beareth  the  message:  "  Rise  up  on  the  morrow 
And  go  on  your  ways  toward  the  doubt  and  the  strife ; 
Join  hope  to  our  hope  and  blend  sorrow  with  sorrow. 
And  seek  for  men's  love  in  the  short  days  of  life." 


36  A   DEATH  SONG. 

But  lo,  the  old  inn,  and  the  lights,  and  the  fire, 
And  the  fiddler's  old  tune  and  the  shuffling  of  feet  ; 
Soon  for  us  shall  be  quiet  and  rest  and  desire. 
And  to-morrow's  uprising  to  deeds  shall  be  sweet. 


A    DEATH    SONG. 

WHAT  Cometh  here  from  west  to  east  awending  ? 
And  who  are  these,  the  marchers  stern  and 
slow  ? 
We  bear  the  message  that  the  rich  are  sending 
Aback  to  those  who  bade  them  wake  and  know. 
Not  one^  not  one.,  nor  thousands  must  they  slay. 
But  one  and  all  if  they  would  dusk  the  day. 

We  asked  them  for  a  life  of  toilsome  earning. 
They  bade  us  bide  their  leisure  for  our  bread ; 
We  craved  to  speak  to  tell  our  woeful  learning: 
We  come  back  speechless,  bearing  back  our  dead. 
Not  one.,  not  one.,  nor  thousands  must  they  slay 
But  one  and  all  if  they  would  dusk  the  day. 

They  will  not  learn  ;   they  have  no  ears  to  hearken. 
They  turn  their  faces  from  the  eyes  of  fate ; 
Their  gay-lit  halls  shut  out  the  skies  that  darken. 
But,  lo  !   this  dead  man  knocking  at  the  gate. 
Not  one,  not  one,  nor  thousands  must  they  slay. 
But  one  and  all  if  they  would  dusk  the  day. 

Here  lies  the  sign  that  we  shall  break  our  prison ; 


ICELAND  FIRST  SEEN.  37 

Amidst  the  storm  he  won  a  prisoner's  rest; 
But  in  the  cloudy  dawn  the  sun  arisen 
Brings  us  our  day  of  work  to  win  the  best. 

Not  one^  not  one,  nor  thousands  must  they  slay 
But  one  and  all  if  they  would  dusk  the  day. 


ICELAND    FIRST   SEEN. 

LO  from  our  loitering  ship 
a  new  land  at  last  to  be  seen ; 
Toothed  rocks  down  the  side  of  the  firth 
on  the  east  guard  a  weary  wide  lea, 
And  black  slope  the  hill-sides  above, 
striped  adown  with  their  desolate  green  : 
And  a  peak  rises  up  on  the  west 
from  the  meeting  of  cloud  and  of  sea. 
Foursquare  from  base  unto  point 
like  the  building  of  Gods  that  have  been. 
The  last  of  that  waste  of  the  mountains 
all  cloud-wreathed  and  snow-flecked  and  grey. 
And  bright  with  the  dawn  that  began 
just  now  at  the  ending  of  day. 

Ah !  what  came  we  forth  for  to  see 

that  our  hearts  are  so  hot  with  desire  ? 

Is  it  enough  for  our  rest, 

the  sight  of  this  desolate  strand. 

And  the  mountain-waste  voiceless  as  death 

but  for  winds  that  may  sleep  not  nor  tire  ? 


^8  ICELAND  FIRST  SEEN. 

Why  do  we  long  to  wend  forth 

through  the  length  and  breadth  of  a  land. 

Dreadful  with  grinding  of  ice, 

and  record  of  scarce  hidden  fire, 

But  that  there  'mid  the  grey  grassy  dales 

sore  scarred  by  the  ruining  streams 

Lives  the  tale  of  the  Northland  of  old 

and  the  undying  glory  of  dreams  ? 

O  land,  as  some  cave  by  the  sea 
where  the  treasures  of  old  have  been  laid. 
The  sword  it  may  be  of  a  king 
whose  name  was  the  turning  of  fight; 
Or  the  staff  of  some  wise  of  the  world 
that  many  things  made  and  unmade. 
Or  the  ring  of  a  woman  maybe 
whose  woe  is  grown  wealth  and  delight. 
No  wheat  and  no  wine  grows  above  it, 
no  orchard  for  blossom  and  shade ; 
The  few  ships  that  sail  by  its  blackness 
but  deem  it  the  mouth  of  a  grave; 
Yet  sure  when  the  world  shall  awaken, 
this  too  shall  be  mighty  to  save. 

Or  rather,  O  land,  if  a  marvel 

it  seemeth  that  men  ever  sought 

Thy  wastes  for  a  field  and  a  garden 

fulfilled  of  all  wonder  and  doubt. 

And  feasted  amidst  of  the  winter 

when  the  fight  of  the  year  had  been  fought. 


ICELAND  FIRST  SEEN.  39 

Whose  plunder  all  gathered  together 
was  little  to  babble  about ; 
Cry  aloud  from  thy  wastes,  O  thou  land, 
"  Not  for  this  nor  for  that  was  I  wrought. 
Amid  waning  of  realms  and  of  riches 
and  death  of  things  worshipped  and  sure, 
I  abide  here  the  spouse  of  a  God, 
and  I  made  and  I  make  and  endure." 

O  Queen  of  the  grief  without  knowledge, 

of  the  courage  that  may  not  avail, 

Of  the  longing  that  may  not  attain, 

of  the  love  that  shall  never  forget. 

More  joy  than  the  gladness  of  laughter 

thy  voice  hath  amidst  of  its  wail: 

More  hope  than  of  pleasure  fulfilled 

amidst  of  thy  blindness  is  set ; 

More  glorious  than  gaining  of  all 

thine  unfaltering  hand  that  shall  fail : 

For  what  is  the  mark  on  thy  brow 

but  the  brand  that  thy  Brynhild  doth  bear  ? 

Lone  once,  and  loved  and  undone 

by  a  love  that  no  ages  outwear. 

Ah  !   when  thy  Balder  comes  back, 

and  bears  from  the  heart  of  the  Sun 

Peace  and  the  healing  of  pain, 

and  the  wisdom  that  waiteth  no  more  ; 

And  the  lilies  are  laid  on  thy  brow 

'mid  the  crown  of  the  deeds  thou  hast  done ; 


40  THE  RAVEN  AND    THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER. 

And  the  roses  spring  up  by  thy  feet 
that  the  rocks  of  the  wilderness  wore. 
Ah !   when  thy  Balder  comes  back 
and  we  gather  the  gains  he  hath  won. 
Shall  we  not  linger  a  little 
to  talk  of  thy  sweetness  of  old, 
Yea,  turn  back  awhile  to  thy  travail 
whence  the  Gods  stood  aloof  to  behold  ? 


THE    RAVEN    AND    THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER. 

'T'he  Raven. 

KING'S  daughter  sitting  in  tower  so  high. 
Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 
Why  weepest  thou  as  the  clouds  go  by? 
Fair  sing  the  swans  ^  twixt  firth  and  field. 
Why  weepest  thou  in  the  window-seat 
Till  the  tears  run  through  thy  fingers  sweet  ? 
The  Kings  Daughter. 
I  weep  because  I  sit  alone 
Betwixt  these  walls  of  lime  and  stone. 
Fair  folk  are  in  my  father's  hall. 
But  for  me  he  built  this  guarded  wall. 
And  here  the  gold  on  the  green  I  sew 
Nor  tidings  of  my  true-love  know. 
'The  Raven. 

King's  daughter,  sitting  above  the  sea, 
I  shall  tell  thee  a  tale  shall  gladden  thee. 


THE  RAVEN  AND    THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER. 

Yestreen  I  saw  a  ship  go  forth 

When  the  wind  blew  merry  from  the  north. 

And  by  the  tiller  Steingrim  sat, 

And  O,  but  my  heart  was  glad  thereat ! 

For  'twixt  ashen  plank  and  dark  blue  sea 

His  sword  sang  sweet  of  deeds  to  be. 

'The  Kings  Daughter. 

O  barren  sea,  thou  bitter  bird, 

And  a  barren  tale  my  ears  have  heard. 

The  Raven. 

Thy  father's  men  were  hard  thereby 

In  byrny  bright  and  helmet  high. 

The  Kings  Daughter. 

O  worser  waxeth  thy  story  far. 

For  these  drew  upon  me  bolt  and  bar. 

Fly  south,  O  fowl,  to  the  field  of  death 

For  nothing  sweet  thy  grey  neb  saith. 

The  Raven. 

O,  there  was  Olaf  the  lily-rose, 

As  fair  as  any  oak  that  grows. 

The  Kings  Daughter. 

0  sweet  bird,  what  did  he  then 
Among  the  spears  of  my  father's  men } 
The  Raven. 

'Twixt  ashen  plank  and  dark  blue  sea. 
He  sang:   My  true  love  waiteth  me. 
The  Kings  Daughter. 
As  well  as  this  dull  floor  knows  my  feet, 

1  am  not  weary  yet,  my  sweet. 


41 


42 


THE  RAVEN  AND    THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER. 


'The  Raven. 

He  sang  :  As  once  her  hand  I  had. 

Her  lips  at  last  shall  make  me  glad. 

The  Kings  Daughter. 

As  once  our  fingers  met,  O  love. 

So  shall  our  lips  be  fain  thereof. 

The  Raven. 

He  sang :   Come  wrack  and  iron  and  flame, 

For  what  shall  breach  the  wall  but  fame  ? 

The  Kings  Daughter. 

Be  swift  to  rise  and  set,  O  Sun, 

Lest  life  'twixt  hope  and  death  be  done. 

The  Raven. 

King's  daughter  sitting  in  tower  so  high, 

A  gift  for  my  tale  ere  forth  I  fly. 

The  gold  from  thy  finger  fair  and  fine. 

Thou  hadst  it  from  no  love  of  thine. 

The  Kings  Daughter. 

By  my  father's  ring  another  there  is, 

I  had  it  with  my  mother's  kiss. 

Fly  forth,  O  fowl,  across  the  sea 

To  win  another  gift  of  me. 

Fly  south  to  bring  me  tidings  true. 

Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 

Of  the  eve  grown  red  with  the  battle-dew. 

Fair  sing  the  swans  '  twixt  Jirth  and  field. 


THE   RAVEN  AND    THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER.  43 

l^he  Raven. 

KING'S  daughter  sitting  in  tower  so  high, 
Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 
Tidings  to  hearken  ere  thou  die, 
Fair  sing  the  swans  '  twixt  firth  and  field. 
In  the  Prankish  land  the  spear  points  met. 
And  wide  about  the  field  was  wet. 
And  high  ere  the  cold  moon  quenched  the  sun. 
Blew  Steingrim's  horn  for  battle  won. 
'^he  King  s  Daughter. 
Fair  fall  thee  fowl !     Tell  tidings  true 
Of  deeds  that  men  that  day  did  do. 
27z<?  Raven. 

Steingrim  before  his  banner  went. 
And  helms  were  broke  and  byrnies  rent. 
The  Kings  Daughter. 
A  doughty  man  and  good  at  need ; 
Tell  men  of  any  other's  deed? 
The  Raven. 

Where  Steingrim  through  the  battle  bore 
Still  Olaf  went  a  foot  before. 
The  King  s  Daughter. 
O  fair  with  deeds  the  world  doth  grow ! 
Where  is  my  true-love  gotten  now  } 
The  Raven. 

Upon  the  deck  beside  the  mast 
He  lieth  now,  and  sleepeth  fast. 
The  Kings  Daughter. 
Heard'st  thou  before  his  sleep  began 


44  THE  RA  VEN  AND    THE  KING'S  DA  UCHTER. 

That  he  spake  word  of  any  man  ? 

l!he  Raven. 

Methought  of  thee  he  sang  a  song, 

But  nothing  now  he  saith  for  long. 

'The  Kings  Daughter. 

And  wottest  thou  where  he  will  wend 

With  the  world  before  him  from  end  to  end  ? 

The  Raven. 

Before  the  battle  joined  that  day 

Steingrim  a  word  to  him  did  say: 

*'If  we  bring  the  banner  back  in  peace. 

In  the  King's  house  much  shall  my  fame  increase; 

Till  there  no  guarded  door  shall  be 

But  it  shall  open  straight  to  me. 

Then  to  the  bower  we  twain  shall  go 

Where  thy  love  the  golden  seam  doth  sew. 

I  shall  bring  thee  in  and  lay  thine  hand 

About  the  neck  of  that  lily-wand. 

And  let  the  King  be  lief  or  loth 

One  bed  that  night  shall  hold  you  both." 

Now  north  belike  runs  Steingrim's  prow, 

And  the  rain  and  the  wind  from  the  south  do  blow. 

The  Kings  Daughter. 

Lo,  fowl  of  death,  my  mother's  ring. 

But  the  bridal  song  I  must  learn  to  sing. 

And  fain  were  I  for  a  space  alone, 

For  O  the  wind,  and  the  wind  doth  moan. 

And  I  must  array  the  bridal  bed, 

Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 


THE  RAVEN  AND    THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER.  45 

For  O  the  rain,  and  the  rain  drifts  red  ! 
Fair  sing  the  swans  'twixt  firth  and  field. 


Before  the  day  from  the  night  was  born, 

Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 

She  heard  the  blast  of  Steingrim's  horn. 

Fair  sing  the  swans  'twixt  firth  and  field. 

Before  the  day  was  waxen  fair 

Were  Steingrim's  feet  upon  the  stair. 

"  O  bolt  and  bar  they  fall  away. 

But  heavy  are  Steingrim's  feet  to-day." 

"  O  heavy  the  feet  of  one  who  bears 

The  longing  of  days  and  the  grief  of  years  ! 

Lie  down,  lie  down,  thou  lily-wand 

That  on  thy  neck  I  may  lay  his  hand. 

Whether  the  King  be  lief  or  loth 

To-day  one  bed  shall  hold  you  both. 

O  thou  art  still  as  he  is  still. 

So  sore  as  ye  longed  to  talk  your  fill. 

And  good  it  were  that  I  depart. 

Now  heart  is  laid  so  close  to  heart. 

For  sure  ye  shall  talk  so  left  alone 

Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 

Of  days  to  be  below  the  stone." 

Fair  sing  the  swans  'twixt  firth  and  field. 


46 


SPRING'S  BEDFELLOW. 


SPRING'S    BEDFELLOW. 

SPRLN'G  went  about  the  woods  to-day, 
The  soft-foot  winter-thief, 
And  found  where  idle  sorrow  lay 
'Twixt  flower  and  faded  leaf. 
She  looked  on  him,  and  found  him  fair 
For  all  she  had  been  told  ; 
She  knelt  adown  beside  him  there, 
And  sang  of  days  of  old. 

His  open  eyes  beheld  her  nought, 
Yet  'gan  his  lips  to  move ; 
But  life  and  deeds  were  in  her  thought, 
And  he  would  sing  of  love. 

So  sang  they  till  their  eyes  did  meet, 
And  faded  fear  and  shame ; 
More  bold  he  grew,  and  she  more  sweet, 
Until  they  sang  the  same. 

Until,  say  they  who  know  the  thing. 
Their  very  lips  did  kiss, 
And  Sorrow  laid  abed  with  Spring 
Begat  an  earthly  bliss. 


MEETING  IN   WINTER.  47 

MEETING    IN    WINTER. 

WINTER  In  the  world  it  is. 
Round  about  the  unhoped  kiss 
Whose  dream  I  long  have  sorrowed  o'er ; 
Round  about  the  longing  sore, 
That  the  touch  of  thee  shall  turn 
Into  joy  too  deep  to  burn. 


Round  thine  eyes  and  round  thy  mouth 
Passeth  no  murmur  of  the  south, 
When  my  lips  a  little  while 
Leave  thy  quivering  tender  smile, 
As  we  twain,  hand  holding  hand. 
Once  again  together  stand. 


Sweet  is  that,  as  all  is  sweet ; 
For  the  white  drift  shalt  thou  meet. 
Kind  and  cold-cheeked  and  mine  ovv'n. 
Wrapped  about  with  deep-furred  gown 
In  the  broad-wheeled  chariot: 
Then  the  north  shall  spare  us  not; 
The  wide-reaching  waste  of  snow 
Wilder,  lonelier  yet  shall  grow 
As  the  reddened  sun  falls  down. 


48  MEETING  IN  WINTER. 

But  the  warders  of  the  town, 

When  they  flash  the  torches  out 

O'er  the  snow  amid  their  doubt, 

And  their  eyes  at  last  behold 

Thy  red-litten  hair  of  gold; 

Shall  they  open,  or  in  fear 

Cry,  "  Alas  !   What  cometh  here  ? 

Whence  hath  come  this  Heavenly  One 

To  tell  of  all  the  world  undone?  " 


They  shall  open,  and  we  shall  see 
The  long  street  litten  scantily 
By  the  long  stream  of  light  before 
The  guest-hall's  half-open  door  ; 
And  our  horses'  bells  shall  cease 
As  we  reach  the  place  of  peace ; 
Thou  shalt  tremble,  as  at  last 
The  worn  threshold  is  o'er-past. 
And  the  fire-light  blindeth  thee: 
.Trembling  shalt  thou  cling  to  me 
As  the  sleepy  merchants  stare 
At  thy  cold  hands  slim  and  fair, 
Thy  soft  eyes  and  happy  lips 
Worth  all  lading  of  their  ships. 


THE    TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  RIVER.  49 


O  my  love,  how  sweet  and  sweet 
That  first  kissing  of  thy  feet, 
When  the  fire  is  sunk  alow, 
And  the  hall  made  empty  now 
Groweth  solemn,  dim  and  vast ! 
O  my  love,  the  night  shall  last 
Longer  than  men  tell  thereof 
Laden  with  our  lonely  love  ! 


THE   TWO   SIDES   OF   THE    RIVER. 

'The  Youths. 

O  WINTER,  O  white  winter,  wert  thou  gone 
No  more  within  the  wilds  were  I  alone 
Leaping  with  bent  bow  over  stock  and  stone  ! 

No  more  alone  my  love  the  lamp  should  burn. 
Watching  the  weary  spindle  twist  and  turn, 
Or  o'er  the  web  hold  back  her  tears  and  yearn  : 
O  winter,  O  white  winter,  wert  thou  gone  ! 
'The  Maidens. 

Sweet  thoughts  fly  swiftlier  than  the  drifting  snow, 
And  with  the  twisting  threads  sweet  longings  grow, 
And  o'er  the  web  sweet  pictures  come  and  go 
For  no  white  winter  are  we  long  alone. 
'The  Youths. 

O  stream  so  changed,  what  hast  thou  done  to  me. 
That  I  thy  glittering  ford  no  more  can  see 
Wreathing  with  white  her  fair  feet  lovingly  ? 

4 


50 


THE    TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  RIVER. 


See,  in  the  rain  she  stands,  and,  looking  down 

With  frightened  eyes  upon  thy  whirlpools  brown, 

Drops  to  her  feet  again  her  girded  gown. 

O  hurrying  turbid  stream,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 

'The  Maidetis. 

The  clouds  lift,  telling  of  a  happier  day 

When  through  the  thin  stream  I  shall  take  my  way, 

Girt  round  with  gold,  and  garlanded  with  may  ; 

What  rushing  stream  can  keep  us  long  alone  ? 

The  Touths. 

O  burning  Sun,  O  master  of  unrest. 

Why  must  we,  toiling,  cast  away  the  best. 

Now,  when  the  bird  sleeps  by  her  empty  nest  ? 

See,  with  my  garland  lying  at  her  feet, 

In  lonely  labour  stands  mine  own,  my  sweet. 

Above  the  quern  half-filled  with  half-ground  wheat. 

O  red  taskmaster,  that  thy  flames  were  done  ! 

I^he  Maidens. 

O  love,  to-night  across  the  half-shorn  plain 

Shall  I  not  go  to  meet  the  yellow  wain, 

A  look  of  love  at  end  of  toil  to  gain  } 

What  flaming  sun  can  keep  us  long  alone  ? 

"The  Touths. 

To-morrow,  said  I,  is  grape  gathering  o'er  ; 

To-morrow,  and  our  loves  are  twinned  no  more. 

To-morrow  came,  to  bring  us  woe  and  war. 

What  have  I  done,  that  I  should  stand  with  these 
Hearkening  the  dread  shouts  borne  upon  the  breeze. 


THE    TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  RIVER.  5  I 

While  she,  far  off,  sits  weeping  'neath  her  trees  ? 

Alas,  O  kings,  what  is  it  ye  have  done  ? 

The  Maidens. 

Come,  love,  delay  not ;   come,  and  slay  my  dread  ! 

Already  is  the  banquet  table  spread ; 

In  the  cool  chamber  flower-strewn  is  my  bed  : 

Come,  love,  what  king  shall  keep  us  long  alone  ? 

The  Youths. 

O  city,  city,  open  thou  thy  gate  ! 

See,  with  life  snatched  from  out  the  hand  of  fate  ! 

How  on  thy  glittering  triumph  I  must  wait ! 

Are  not  her  hands  stretched  out  to  me  ?     Her  eyes. 

Grow  they  not  weary  as  each  new  hope  dies. 

And  lone  before  her  still  the  long  road  lies  ? 

O  golden  city,  fain  would  I  be  gone  ! 

The  Maidens. 

And  thou  art  happy,  amid  shouts  and  songs, 

And  all  that  unto  conquering  men  belongs. 

Night  hath  no  fear  for  me,  and  day  no  wrongs. 

What  brazen  city  gates  can  keep  us,  lone  ? 

The  Youths. 

O  long,  long  road,  how  bare  thou  art,  and  grey  ! 

Hill  after  hill  thou  climbest,  and  the  day 

Is  ended  now,  O  moonlit  endless  way  ! 

And  she  is  standing  where  the  rushes  grow. 
And  still  with  white  hand  shades  her  anxious  brow. 
Though  'neath  the  world  the  sun  is  fallen  now, 
O  dreary  road,  when  will  thy  leagues  be  done  ? 


52  THE    TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  RIVER. 

'The  Maidens. 

O  tremblest  thou,  grey  road,  or  do  my  feet 

Tremble  with  joy,  thy  flinty  face  to  meet? 

Because  my  love's  eyes  soon  mine  eyes  shall  greet? 

No  heart  thou  hast  to  keep  us  long  alone. 

The  Youths. 

O  wilt  thou  ne'er  depart,  thou  heavy  night? 

When  will  thy  slaying  bring  on  the  morning  bright, 

That  leads  my  weary  feet  to  my  delight  ? 

Why  lingerest  thou,  filling  with  wandering  fears 
My  lone  love's  tired  heart ;   her  eyes  with  tears 
For  thoughts  like  sorrow  for  the  vanished  years  ? 
Weaver  of  ill  thoughts,  when  wilt  thou  be  gone  ? 
The  Maidens. 

Love,  to  the  east  are  thine  eyes  turned  as  mine, 
In  patient  watching  for  the  night's  decline? 
And  hast  thou  noted  this  grey  widening  line  ? 
Can  any  darkness  keep  us  long  alone  ? 
The  Youths. 

0  day,  O  day,  is  it  a"  little  thing 

That  thou  so  long  unto  thy  life  must  cling, 
Because  I  gave  thee  such  a  welcoming? 

1  called  thee  king  of  all  felicity, 

I  praised  thee  that  thou  broughtest  joy  so  nigh; 
Thine  hours  are  turned  to  years,  thou  wilt  not  die  ; 
O  day  so  longed  for,  would  that  thou  wert  gone ! 
The  Maidens. 
The  light  fails,  love ;   the  long  day  soon  shall  be 


LOVE  FULFILLED.  53 

Nought  but  a  pensive  happy  memory 
Blessed  for  the  tales  it  told  to  thee  and  me. 
How  hard  it  was,  O  love,  to  be  alone. 


LOVE    FULFILLED. 

HAST  thou  longed  through  weary  days 
For  the  sight  of  one  loved  face  ? 
Hast  thou  cried  aloud  for  rest. 
Mid  the  pain  of  sundering  hours; 
Cried  aloud  for  sleep  and  death. 
Since  the  sweet  unhoped  for  best 
Was  a  shadow  and  a  breath  ? 
O,  long  now,  for  no  fear  lowers 
O'er  these  faint  feet-kissing  flowers. 
O,  rest  now ;   and  yet  in  sleep 
All  thy  longing  shalt  thou  keep. 


Thou  shalt  rest  and  have  no  fear 
Of  a  dull  awaking  near. 
Of  a  life  for  ever  blind, 
Uncontent  and  waste  and  wide. 
Thou  shalt  wake  and  think  it  sweet 
That  thy  love  is  near  and  kind. 
Sweeter  still  for  lips  to  meet ; 
Sweetest  that  thine  heart  doth  hide 
Longing  all  unsatisfied 


54  THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS. 

With  all  longing's  answering 
Howsoever  close  ye  cling. 


Thou  rememberest  how  of  old 
E'en  thy  very  pain  grew  cold, 
How  thou  might'st  not  measure  bliss 
E'en  when  eyes  and  hands  drew  nigh. 
Thou  rememberest  all  regret 
For  the  scarce  remembered  kiss. 
The  lost  dream  of  how  they  met. 
Mouths  once  parched  with  misery. 
Then  seemed  Love  born  but  to  die. 
Now  unrest,  pain,  bliss  are  one, 
Love,  unhidden  and  alone. 


THE    KING    OF    DENMARK'S   SONS. 

IN  Denmark  gone  is  many  a  year, 
So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun, 
Two  sons  of  Gorm  the  King  there  were. 
So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 

Both  these  were  gotten  in  lawful  bed 
Of  Thyrre  Denmark's  Surety-head. 

Fair  was  Knut  of  face  and  limb 

As  the  breast  of  the  Queen  that  suckled  him. 


THE  KING   OF  DENMARK'S  SONS.  5  5 

But  Harald  was  hot  of  hand  and  heart  . 
As  lips  of  lovers  ere  they  part. 

Knut  sat  at  home  in  all  men's  love. 
But  over  the  seas  must  Harald  rove. 

And  for  every  deed  by  Harald  won, 
Gorm  laid  more  love  on  Knut  alone. 

On  a  high-tide  spake  the  King  in  hall, 
"  Old  I  grow  as  the  leaves  that  fall. 

"  Knut  shall  reign  when  I  am  dead. 
So  shall  the  land  have  peace  and  aid. 

"  But  many  a  ship  shall  Harald  have, 

For  I  deem  the  sea  well  wrought  for  his  grave." 

Then  none  spake  save  the  King  again, 
"  \i  Knut  die  all  my  days  be  vain. 

"And  whoso  the  tale  of  his  death  shall  tell. 
Hath  spoken  a  word  to  gain  him  hell. 

"  Lo  here  a  doom  I  will  not  break," 

So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun. 

"  For  life  or  death  or  any  man's  sake," 

So  grey  is  the  sea  when  the  day  is  done. 


O  merry  days  in  the  summer-tide  ! 
So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun. 


56  THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS. 

When  the  ships  sail  fair  and  the  young  men  ride. 
So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 

Now  Harald  has  got  him  east  away, 

And  each  morrow  of  fight  was  a  gainful  day. 

But  Knut  is  to  his  fosterer  gone 
To  deal  in  deeds  of  peace  alone. 

So  wear  the  days,  and  well  it  is 

Such  lovely  lords  should  dwell  in  bliss. 

O  merry  in  the  winter-tide 

When  men  to  Yule-feast  wend  them  wide. 

And  here  lieth  Knut  in  the  Lima-firth 
When  the  lift  is  low  o'er  the  Danish  earth. 

"  Tell  me  now,  Shipmaster  mine, 
What  are  yon  torches  there  that  shine  ? " 

"  Lord,  no  torches  may  these  be 
But  golden  prows  across  the  sea. 

"  For  over  there  the  sun  shines  now 

And  the  gold  worms  gape  from  every  prow." 

The  sun  and  the  wind  came  down  o'er  the  sea, 
"  Tell  them  over  how  many  they  be  1  " 

"  Ten  I  tell  with  shield-hung  sides. 
Nought  but  a  fool  his  death  abides." 

"  Ten  thou  tellest,  and  we  be  three, 
Good  need  that  we  do  manfully. 


THE  KING   OF  DENMARK'S  SONS.  57 

"  Good  fellows,  grip  the  shield  and  spear. 
For  Harald  my  brother  draweth  near. 

"  Well  breakfast  we  when  night  is  done, 
And  Valhall's  cock  crows  up  the  sun." 

Up  spoke  Harald  in  wrathful  case : 

"  I  would  have  word  with  this  waxen  face  ! 

"  What  wilt  thou  pay,  thou  hucksterer. 
That  I  let  thee  live  another  year  ? 

"For  oath  that  thou  wilt  never  reign 
Will  I  let  thee  live  a  year  or  twain." 

"Kisses  and  love  shalt  thou  have  of  me 
If  yet  my  liegeman  thou  wilt  be. 

"But  stroke  of  sword,  and  dint  of  axe. 
Or  ere  thou  makest  my  face  as  wax." 

As  thick  the  arrows  fell  around 

As  fall  sere  leaves  on  autumn  ground. 

In  many  a  cheek  the  red  did  wane 
No  maid  might  ever  kiss  again. 

"  Lay  me  aboard,"  Lord  Harald  said, 
"  The  winter  day  will  soon  be  dead ! 

"Lay  me  aboard  the  bastard's  ship. 
And  see  to  it  lest  your  grapnels  slip  !  " 


58  THE  KING   OF  DENMARK'S  SONS. 

Then  some  they  knelt  and  some  they  drowned, 
And  some  lay  dead  Lord  Knut  around. 

"  Look  here  at  the  wax-white  corpse  of  him. 
As  fair  as  the  Queen  in  face  and  limb  ! 

"  Make  now  for  the  shore,  for  the  moon  is  bright. 
And  I  would  be  home  ere  the  end  of  night. 

"Two  sons  last  night  had  Thyrre  the  Queen, 
So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun. 
And  both  she  may  lack  ere  the  woods  wax  green," 
So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 


A  little  before  the  morning  tide, 

So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun, 

Queen  Thyrre  looked  out  of  her  window-side, 

So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 

*' O  men-at-arms,  what  men  be  ye  .f*  " 
"  Harald  thy  son  come  over  the  sea." 

"  Why  is  thy  face  so  pale,  my  son  ? " 
"  It  may  be  red  or  day  is  done." 

"O  evil  words  of  an  evil  hour! 

Come,  sweet  son,  to  thy  mother's  bower  !  " 

None  from  the  Queen's  bower  went  that  day 
Till  dark  night  over  the  meadows  lay.     ' 


THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS.  59 

None  thenceforth  heard  wail  or  cry- 
Till  the  King's  feast  was  waxen  high. 

Then  into  the  hall  Lord  Harald  came 
When  the  great  wax  lights  were  all  aflame. 

"What  tidings,  son,  dost  thou  bear  to  me? 
Speak  out  before  I  drink  with  thee." 

**  Tidings  small  for  a  seafarer. 
Two  falcons  in  the  sea-cliiFs  were; 

"And  one  was  white  and  one  was  grey 
And  they  fell  to  battle  on  a  day ; 

"  They  fought  in  the  sun,  they  fought  in  the  wind, 
No  boot  the  white  fowl's  wounds  to  bind. 

"They  fought  in  the  wind,  they  fought  in  the  sun, 
And  the  white  fowl  died  when  the  play  was  done." 

"  Small  tidings  these  to  bear  o'er  the  sea  ! 
Good  hap  that  nothing  worser  they  be  ! 

"  Small  tidings  for  a  travelled  man  ! 
Drink  with  me,  son,  whiles  yet  ye  can  ! 

"  Drink  with  me  ere  thy  day  and  mine. 

So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun, 

Be  nought  but  a  tale  told  over  the  wine." 

So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 


60  THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS. 

Now  fareth  the  King  with  his  men  to  sleep, 

So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun., 

And  dim  the  maids  from  the  Queen's  bower  creep. 

So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 

And  in  the  hall  is  little  light, 

And  there  standeth  the  Queen  with  cheeks  full  white. 

And  soft  the  feet  of  women  fall 

From  end  to  end  of  the  King's  great  hall. 

These  bear  the  gold-wrought  cloths  away. 
And  in  other  wise  the  hall  array ; 

Till  all  is  black  that  hath  been  gold 
So  heavy  a  tale  there  must  be  told. 

The  morrow  men  looked  on  King  Gorm  and  said 
*'  Hath  he  dreamed  a  dream  or  beheld  the  dead  ? 

"Why  is  he  sad  who  should  be  gay? 
Why  are  the  old  man's  lips  so  grey  ?  " 

Slow  paced  the  King  adown  the  hall. 
Nor  looked  aside  to  either  wall, 

Till  in  high-seat  there  he  sat  him  down. 
And  deadly  old  men  deemed  him  grown. 

"  O  Queen,  what  thrall's  hands  durst  do  this, 
To  strip  my  hall  of  mirth  and  bliss  ?  " 

*'  No  thrall's  hands  in  the  hangings  were. 
No  thrall's  hands  made  the  tenters  bare. 


THE  KING   OF  DENMARK'S  SONS.  6 1 

"King's  daughters'  hands  have  done  the  deed, 
The  hands  of  Denmark's  Surety-head." 

"  Nought  betters  the  deed  thy  word  unsaid. 
Tell  me  that  Knut  my  son  is  dead !  " 

She  said :   "  The  doom  on  thee,  O  King  ! 
For  thine  own  lips  have  said  the  thing." 

Men  looked  to  see  the  King  arise. 
The  death  of  men  within  his  eyes. 

Men  looked  to  see  his  bitter  sword 

That  once  cleared  ships  from  board  to  board. 

But  in  the  hall  no  sword  gleamed  wide 
His  hand  fell  down  along  his  side. 

No  red  there  came  into  his  cheek, 
He  fell  aback  as  one  made  weak. 

His  wan  cheek  brushed  the  high-seat's  side, 
And  in  the  noon  of  day  he  died. 

So  lieth  King  Gorm  beneath  the  grass. 

But  from  mouth  to  mouth  this  tale  did  pass. 

And  Harald  reigned  and  went  his  way. 
So  fair  uprise th  the  rim  of  the  sun. 
And  still  is  the  story  told  to-day. 
So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 


62       ON  THE  EDGE   OF  THE    WILDERNESS. 

ON   THE    EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS. 

Puella. 

WHENCE  comest  thou,  and  whither  goest  thou? 
Abide  !   abide  !   longer  the  shadows  grow  ; 
What  hopest  thou  the  dark  to  thee  will  show  ? 

Abide  !   abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

Amans. 

Why  should  I  name  the  land  across  the  sea 

Wherein  I  first  took  hold  on  misery? 

Why  should  I  name  the  land  that  flees  from  me  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

Puell<e. 

What  wilt  thou  do  within  the  desert  place 
Whereto  thou  turnest  now  thy  careful  face? 
Stay  but  a  while  to  tell  us  of  thy  case. 

Abide  !  abide  !   for  we  are  happy  here. 

Amans. 

What,  nigh  the  journey's  end  shall  I  abide, 
When  in  the  waste  mine  own  love  wanders  wide, 
When  from  all  men  for  me  she  still  doth  hide  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

Puella. 

Nay,  nay  ;  but  rather  she  forgetteth  thee. 


ON  THE  EDGE   OF  THE   WILDERNESS.  63 

To  sit  upon  the  shore  of  some  warm  sea. 
Or  in  green  gardens  where  sweet  fountains  be. 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

Amans, 

Will  ye  then  keep  me  from  the  wilderness. 
Where  I  at  least,  alone  with  my  distress. 
The  quiet  land  of  changing  dreams  may  bless  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

Puella. 

Forget  the  false  forgetter  and  be  wise. 

And  'mid  these  clinging  hands  and  loving  eyes, 

Dream,  not  in  vain,  thou  knowest  paradise. 

Abide  !   abide  !   for  we  are  happy  here. 

Amans. 

Ah !   with  your  sweet  eyes  shorten  not  the  day, 
Nor  let  your  gentle  hands  my  journey  stay ! 
Perchance  love  is  not  wholly  cast  away. 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

Puella. 

Pluck  love  away  as  thou  wouldst  pluck  a  thorn 
From  out  thy  flesh;   for  why  shouldst  thou  be  born 
To  bear  a  life  so  wasted  and  forlorn  ? 

Abide  !  abide  !   for  we  are  happy  here. 


64  ON  THE  EDGE   OF  THE    WILDERNESS. 

Amans. 

Yea,  why  then  was  I  born,  since  hope  is  pain, 
And  life  a  lingering  death,  and  faith  but  vain. 
And  love  the  loss  of  all  I  seemed  to  gain  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

Puell^e. 

Dost  thou  believe  that  this  shall  ever  be, 
That  in  our  land  no  face  thou  e'er  shalt  see. 
No  voice  thou  e'er  shalt  hear  to  gladden  thee  ? 

Abide  !  abide  !   for  we  are  happy  here. 

Amans. 

No  longer  do  I  know  of  good  or  bad, 
I  have  forgotten  that  I  once  was  glad  ; 
I  do  but  chase  a  dream  that  I  have  had. 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

Puella. 

Stay  !  take  one  image  for  thy  dreamful  night ; 
Come,  look  at  her,  who  in  the  world's  despite 
Weeps  for  delaying  love  and  lost  delight. 

Abide  !  abide  !   for  we  are  happy  here. 

Amans. 

Mock  me  not  till  to-morrow.     Mock  the  dead, 
They  will  not  heed  it,  or  turn  round  the  head, 
To  note  who  faithless  are,  and  who  are  wed. 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 


ON  THE  EDGE   OF  THE    WILDERNESS.  65 

Puella. 

We  mock  thee  not.  Hast  thou  not  heard  of  those 
Whose  faithful  love  the  loved  heart  holds  so  close, 
That  death  must  wait  till  one  word  lets  it  loose  ? 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

Amans. 

I  hear  you  not:   the  wind  from  off  the  waste 
Sighs  like  a  song  that  bids  me  make  good  haste 
The  wave  of  sweet  forgetfulness  to  taste. 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

Puellce. 

Come  back  !  like  such  a  singer  is  the  wind, 
As  to  a  sad  tune  sings  fair  words  and  kind. 
That  he  with  happy  tears  all  eyes  may  blind  ! 

Abide  !   abide  !   for  we  are  happy  here. 

Amans. 

Did  I  not  hear  her  sweet  voice  cry  from  far, 
That  o'er  the  lonely  waste  fair  fields  there  are. 
Fair  days  that  know  not  any  change  or  care  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

PuelU. 

Oh,  no  !   not  far  thou  heardest  her,  but  nigh  ; 
Nigh,  'twixt  the  waste's  edge  and  the  darkling  sky. 
Turn  back  again,  too  soon  it  is  to  die. 

Abide !  a  little  while  be  happy  here. 

5 


66  A    GARDEN  BY  THE  SEA. 

Amans. 

How  with  the  lapse  of  lone  years  could  I  strive, 

And  can  I  die  now  that  thou  biddest  live  ? 

What  joy  this  space  'twixt  birth  and  death  can  give. 

Can  we  depart,  who  are  so  happy  here  ? 

A    GARDEN    BY   THE    SEA. 

I  KNOW  a  little  garden-close. 
Set  thick  with  lily  and  red  rose. 
Where  I  would  wander  if  I  might 
From  dewy  morn  to  dewy  night. 
And  have  one  with  me  wandering. 

And  though  within  it  no  birds  sing, 
And  though  no  pillared  house  is  there. 
And  though  the  apple-boughs  are  bare 
Of  fruit  and  blossom,  would  to  God 
Her  feet  upon  the  green  grass  trod. 
And  I  beheld  them  as  before. 

There  comes  a  murmur  from  the  shore. 
And  in  the  close  two  fair  streams  are. 
Drawn  from  the  purple  hills  afar, 
Drawn  down  unto  the  restless  sea : 
Dark  hills  whose  heath-bloom  feeds  no  bee. 
Dark  shore  no  ship  has  ever  seen. 
Tormented  by  the  billows  green 
Whose  murmur  comes  unceasingly 
Unto  the  place  for  which  I  cry. 


MOTHER  AND  SON.  67 

For  which  I  cry  both  day  and  night, 
For  which  I  let  slip  all  delight, 
Whereby  I  grow  both  deaf  and  blind, 
Careless  to  win,  unskilled  to  find, 
And  quick  to  lose  what  all  men  seek. 

Yet  tottering  as  I  am  and  weak, 

Still  have  I  left  a  little  breath 

To  seek  within  the  jaws  of  death 

An  entrance  to  that  happy  place. 

To  seek  the  unforgotten  face. 

Once  seen,  once  kissed,  once  reft  from  me 

Anigh  the  murmuring  of  the  sea. 


MOTHER   AND    SON. 

NOW  sleeps  the  land  of  houses, 
and  dead  night  holds  the  street. 
And  there  thou  liest,  my  baby, 
and  sleepest  soft  and  sweet; 
My  man  is  away  for  awhile, 
but  safe  and  alone  we  lie, 
And  none  heareth  thy  breath  but  thy  mother, 
and  the  moon  looking  down  from  the  sky 
On  the  weary  waste  of  the  town, 
as  it  looked  on  the  grass-edged  road 
Still  warm  with  yesterday's  sun, 
when  1  left  my  old  abode ; 
Hand  in  hand  with  my  love. 


68  MOTHER  AND  SON. 

that  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year ; 
When  the  river  of  love  o'erflowed 
and  drowned  all  doubt  and  fear, 
And  we  two  were  alone  in  the  world, 
and  once  if  never  again. 
We  knew  of  the  secret  of  earth 
and  the  tale  of  its  labour  and  pain. 


Lo  amidst  London  I  lift  thee, 

and  how  little  and  light  thou  art. 

And  thou  without  hope  or  fear 

thou  fear  and  hope  of  my  heart ! 

Lo  here  thy  body  beginning, 

O  son,  and  thy  soul  and  thy  life; 

But  how  will  it  be  if  thou  livest, 

and  enterest  into  the  strife. 

And  in  love  we  dwell  together 

when  the  man  is  grown  in  thee. 

When  thy  sweet  speech  I  shall  hearken, 

and  yet  'twixt  thee  and  me 

Shall  rise  that  wall  of  distance, 

that  round  each  one  doth  grow. 

And  maketh  it  hard  and  bitter 

each  other's  thought  to  know. 


MOTHER  AND  SON.  69 


Now,  therefore,  while  yet  thou  art  little 

and  hast  no  thought  of  thine  own, 

I  will  tell  thee  a  word  of  the  world ; 

of  the  hope  whence  thou  hast  grown  ; 

Of  the  love  that  once  begat  thee, 

of  the  sorrow  that  hath  made 

Thy  little  heart  of  hunger, 

and  thy  hands  on  my  bosom  laid. 

Then  mayst  thou  remember  hereafter, 

as  whiles  when  people  say 

All  this  hath  happened  before 

in  the  life  of  another  day  ; 

So  mayst  thou  dimly  remember 

this  tale  of  thy  mother's  voice, 

As  oft  in  the  calm  of  dawning 

I  have  heard  the  birds  rejoice. 

As  oft  1  have  heard  the  storm-wind 

go  moaning  through  the  wood  ; 

And  I  knew  that  earth  was  speaking, 

and  the  mother's  voice  was  good. 


Now,  to  thee  alone  will  I  tell  it 

that  thy  mother's  body  is  fair. 

In  the  guise  of  the  country  maidens 

Who  play  with  the  sun  and  the  air  ; 

Who  have  stood  in  the  row  of  the  reapers 

in  the  August  afternoon, 


70 


MOTHER  AND  SON. 


Who  have  sat  by  the  frozen  water 

in  the  high  day  of  the  moon, 

When  the  lights  of  the  Christmas  feasting 

were  dead  in  the  house  on  the  hill, 

And  the  wild  geese  gone  to  the  salt-marsh 

had  left  the  winter  still. 

Yea,  I  am  fair,  my  firstling, 

if  thou  couldst  but  remember  me  ! 

The  hair  that  thy  small  hand  clutcheth 

is  a  goodly  sight  to  see ; 

I  am  true,  but  my  face  is  a  snare ; 

soft  and  deep  are  my  eyes. 

And  they  seem  for  men's  beguiling 

fulfilled  with  the  dreams  of  the  wise. 

Kind  are  my  lips,  and  they  look 

as  though  my  soul  had  learned 

Deep  things  I  have  never  heard  of. 

my  face  and  my  hands  are  burned 

By  the  lovely  sun  of  the  acres ; 

three  months  of  London  town 

And  thy  birth-bed  have  bleached  them  indeed, 

*'  But  lo,  where  the  edge  of  the  gown  " 

(So  said  thy  father)  "  is  parting 

the  wrist  that  is  white  as  the  curd 

From  the  brown  of  the  hand  that  1  love, 

bright  as  the  wing  of  a  bird." 


MOTHER  AND  SON.  7 1 

Such  is  thy  mother,  O  firstling, 

yet  strong  as  the  maidens  of  old. 

Whose  spears  and  whose  swords  were  the  warders 

of  homestead,  of  field  and  of  fold. 

Oft  were  my  feet  on  the  highway, 

often  they  wearied  the  grass  ; 

From  dusk  unto  dusk  of  the  summer 

three  times  in  a  week  would  I  pass 

To  the  downs  from  the  house  on  the  river 

through  the  waves  of  the  blossoming  corn. 

Fair  then  I  lay  down  in  the  even, 

and  fresh  I  arose  on  the  morn. 

And  scarce  in  the  noon  was  I  weary. 

Ah,  son,  in  the  days  of  thy  strife, 

If  thy  soul  could  but  harbour  a  dream 

of  the  blossom  of  my  life  ! 

It  would  be  as  the  sunlit  meadows 

beheld  from  a  tossing  sea. 

And  thy  soul  should  look  on  a  vision 

of  the  peace  that  is  to  be. 


Yet,  yet  the  tears  on  my  cheek ! 
and  what  is  this  doth  move 
My  heart  to  thy  heart,  beloved, 
save  the  flood  of  yearning  love? 
For  fair  and  fierce  is  thy  father, 
and  soft  and  strange  are  his  eyes 


72 


MOTHER   AND  SON. 


That  look  on  the  day  that  shall  be 

with  the  hope  of  the  brave  and  the  wise. 

It  was  many  a  day  that  we  laughed, 

as  over  the  meadows  we  walked. 

And  many  a  day  I  hearkened 

and  the  pictures  came  as  he  talked  ; 

It  was  many  a  day  that  we  longed, 

and  we  lingered  late  at  eve 

Ere  speech  from  speech  was  sundered, 

and  my  hand  his  hand  could  leave. 

Then  I  wept  when  I  was  alone, 

and  I  longed  till  the  daylight  came ; 

And  down  the  stairs  I  stole, 

and  there  was  our  housekeeping  dame 

(No  mother  of  me,  the  foundling) 

kindling  the  fire  betimes 

Ere  the  haymaking  folk  went  forth 

to  the  meadows  down  by  the  limes  ; 

All  things  I  saw  at  a  glance ; 

the  quickening  fire-tongues  leapt 

Through  the  crackling  heap  of  sticks, 

and  the  sweet  smoke  up  from  it  crept. 

And  close  to  the  very  hearth 

the  low  sun  flooded  the  floor, 

And  the  cat  and  her  kittens  played 

in  the  sun  by  the  open  door. 

The  garden  was  fair  in  the  morning, 

and  there  in  the  road  he  stood 

Beyond  the  crimson  daisies 


MOTHER  AND  SON.  73 


and  the  bush  of  southernwood. 

Then  side  by  side  together 

through  the  grey-walled  place  we  went. 

And  O  the  fear  departed, 

and  the  rest  and  sweet  content ! 


Son,  sorrow  and  wisdom  he  taught  me, 

and  sore  I  grieved  and  learned 

As  we  twain  grew  into  one; 

and  the  heart  within  me  burned 

With  the  very  hopes  of  his  heart. 

Ah,  son,  it  is  piteous. 

But  never  again  in  my  life 

shall  I  dare  to  speak  to  thee  thus ; 

So  may  these  lonely  words 

about  thee  creep  and  cling. 

These  words  of  the  lonely  night 

in  the  days  of  our  wayfaring. 

Many  a  child  of  woman 

to-night  is  born  in  the  town. 

The  desert  of  folly  and  wrong; 

and  of  what  and  whence  are  they  grown  ? 

Many  and  many  an  one 

of  wont  and  use  is  born  ; 

For  a  husband  is  taken  to  bed 

as  a  hat  or  a  ribbon  is  worn. 

Prudence  begets  her  thousands  ; 


74  MOTHER  AND  SON. 

"good  is  a  housekeeper's  life. 

So  shall  I  sell  my  body 

that  I  may  be  matron  and  wife." 

"And  I  shall  endure  foul  wedlock 

and  bear  the  children  of  need." 

Some  are  there  born  of  hate, 

many  the  children  of  greed. 

"  I,  I  too  can  be  wedded, 

though  thou  my  love  hast  got." 

"  I  am  fair  and  hard  of  heart, 

and  riches  shall  be  my  lot." 

And  all  these  are  the  good  and  the  happy, 

on  whom  the  world  dawns  fair. 

O  son,  when  wilt  thou  learn 

of  those  that  are  born  of  despair, 

As  the  fabled  mud  of  the  Nile 

that  quickens  under  the  sun 

With  a  growth  of  creeping  things, 

half  dead  when  just  begun  '^. 

E'en  such  is  the  care  of  Nature 

that  man  should  never  die, 

Though  she  breed  of  the  fools  of  the  earth, 

and  the  dregs  of  the  city  sty. 

But  thou,  O  son,  O  son, 

of  very  love  wert  born. 

When  our  hope  fulfilled  bred  hope, 

and  fear  was  a  folly  outworn. 

On  the  eve  of  the  toil  and  the  battle 

all  sorrow  and  grief  we  weighed. 


THUNDER  IN  THE   GARDEN.  75 


We  hoped  and  we  were  not  ashamed, 
we  knew  and  we  were  not  afraid. 


Now  waneth  the  night  and  the  moon ; 

ah,  son,  it  is  piteous 

That  never  again  in  my  life 

shall  I  dare  to  speak  to  thee  thus. 

But  sure  from  the  wise  and  the  simple 

shall  the  mighty  come  to  birth ; 

And  fair  were  my  fate,  beloved, 

if  I  be  yet  on  the  earth 

When  the  world  is  awaken  at  last, 

and  from  mouth  to  mouth  they  tell 

Of  thy  love  and  thy  deeds  and  thy  valour, 

and  thy  hope  that  nought  can  quell. 

THUNDER    IN    THE   GARDEN. 

WHEN  the  boughs   of  the  garden  hang  heavy 
with  rain 
And  the  blackbird  reneweth  his  song, 
And  the  thunder  departing  yet  rolleth  again, 
I  remember  the  ending  of  wrong. 

When  the  day  that  was  dusk  while  his  death  was  aloof 
Is  ending  wide-gleaming  and  strange 
For  the  clearness  of  all  things  beneath  the  world's  roof, 
I  call  back  the  wild  chance  and  the  change. 


76  THUNDER  IN  THE   GARDEN. 

For  once  we  twain  sat  through  the  hot  afternoon 
While  the  rain  held  aloof  for  a  while, 
Till  she,  the  soft-clad,  for  the  glory  of  June 
Changed  all  with  the  change  of  her  smile. 

For  her  smile  was  of  longing,  no  longer  of  glee, 
And  her  fingers,  entwined  with  mine  own. 
With  caresses  unquiet  sought  kindness  of  me 
For  the  gift  that  I  never  had  known. 

Then  down  rushed  the  rain,  and  the  voice  of  the 

thunder 

Smote  dumb  all  the  sound  of  the  street, 

And  I  to  myself  was  grown  nought  but  a  wonder. 

As  she  leaned  down  my  kisses  to  meet. 

That  she  craved  for  my  lips  that  had  craved  her  so  often. 
And  the  hand  that  had  trembled  to  touch. 
That  the  tears  filled  her  eyes  I  had  hoped  not  to  soften 
In  this  world  was  a  marvel  too  much. 

It  was  dusk  'mid  the  thunder,  dusk  e'en  as  the  night, 
When  first  brake  out  our  love  like  the  storm, 
But  no  night-hour  was  it,  and  back  came  the  light 
While  our  hands  with  each  other  were  warm. 

And  her  smile  killed  with  kisses,  came  back  as  at  first 
As  she  rose  up  and  led  me  along. 
And  out  to  the  garden,  where  nought  was  athirst. 
And  the  blackbird  renewing  his  song. 


THE   GOD   OF  THE   POOR.  77 

Earth's  fragrance  went  with  her,  as  in  the  wet  grass, 
Her  feet  little  hidden  were  set  ; 
She  bent  down  her  head,  'neath  the  roses  to  pass. 
And  her  arm  with  the  lily  was  wet. 

In  the  garden  we  wandered  while  day  waned  apace 
And  the  thunder  was  dying  aloof; 
Till  the  moon  o'er  the  minster-wall  lifted  his  face. 
And  grey  gleamed  out  the  lead  of  the  roof. 

Then  we  turned  from  the  blossoms,  and  cold  were  they 

grown  : 

In  the  trees  the  wind  westering  moved  ; 

Till  over  the  threshold  back  fluttered  her  gown. 

And  in  the  dark  house  was  I  loved. 


THE    GOD    OF    THE    POOR. 

THERE  was  a  lord  that  hight  Maltete, 
Among  great  lords  he  was  right  great. 
On  poor  folk  trod  he  like  the  dirt. 
None  but  God  might  do  him  hurt. 
T>eu5  est  Deus  pauperum. 

With  a  grace  of  prayers  sung  loud  and  late 
Many  a  widow's  house  he  ate ; 
Many  a  poor  knight  at  his  hands 
Lost  his  house  and  narrow  lands. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


yS  THE   GOD  OF  THE  POOR. 

He  burnt  the  harvests  many  a  time, 
He  made  fair  houses  heaps  of  lime ; 
Whatso  man  loved  wife  or  maid 
Of  Evil-head  was  sore  afraid. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

He  slew  good  men  and  spared  the  bad ; 
Too  long  a  day  the  foul  dog  had, 
E'en  as  all  dogs  will  have  their  day  ; 
But  God  is  as  strong  as  man,  I  say. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

For  a  valiant  knight,  men  called  Boncoeur, 
Had  hope  he  should  not  long  endure. 
And  gathered  to  him  much  good  folk. 
Hardy  hearts  to  break  the  yoke. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

But  Boncoeur  deemed  it  would  be  vain 
To  strive  his  guarded  house  to  gain ; 
Therefore,  within  a  little  while. 
He  set  himself  to  work  by  guile. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

He  knew  that  Maltete  loved  right  well 

Red  gold  and  heavy.     If  from  hell 

The  Devil  had  cried,  "  Take  this  gold  cup,' 

Down  had  he  gone  to  fetch  it  up. 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE   GOD   OF  THE  POOR.  79 


Twenty  poor  men's  lives  were  nought 
To  him,  beside  a  ring  well  wrought. 
The  pommel  of  his  hunting-knife 
Was  worth  ten  times  a  poor  man's  life. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

A  squire  new-come  from  over-sea 
Boncoeur  called  to  him  privily, 
And  when  he  knew  his  lord's  intent. 
Clad  like  a  churl  therefrom  he  went. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


But  when  he  came  where  dwelt  Maltete, 
With  few  words  did  he  pass  the  gate. 
For  Maltete  built  him  walls  anew, 
And,  wageless,  folk  from  field  he  drew. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Now  passed  the  squire  through  this  and  that. 
Till  he  came  to  where  Sir  Maltete  sat. 
And  over  red  wine  wagged  his  beard  : 
Then  spoke  the  squire  as  one  afeard. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Lord,  give  me  grace,  for  privily 

I  have  a  little  word  for  thee." 

"  Speak  out,"  said  Maltete,  '*  have  no  fear. 

For  how  can  thy  life  to  thee  be  dear  ?  " 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


So  THE   GOD   OF  THE  POOR. 

"  Such  an  one  I  know,"  he  said, 
"Who  hideth  store  of  money  red." 
Maltete  grinned  at  him  cruelly  : 
"  Thou  florin-maker,  come  anigh." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauper um. 

"  E'en  such  as  thou  once  preached  of  gold. 
And  showed  me  lies  in  books  full  old, 
Nought  gat  I  but  evil  brass, 
Therefore  came  he  to  the  worser  pass. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Hast  thou  will  to  see  his  skin  ? 
I  keep  my  heaviest  marks  therein. 
For  since  nought  else  of  wealth  had  he, 
I  deemed  full  well  he  owed  it  me." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"Nought  know  I  of  philosophy," 
The  other  said,  "nor  do  I  lie. 
Before  the  moon  begins  to  shine, 
May  all  this  heap  of  gold  be  thine." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Ten  leagues  from  this  a  man  there  is, 
Who  seemeth  to  know  but  little  bliss. 
And  yet  full  many  a  pound  of  gold 
A  dry  well  nigh  his  house  doth  hold. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE   COD   OF  THE  POOR.  8 1 

"  John-a-Wood  is  he  called,  fair  lord, 
Nor  know  I  whence  he  hath  this  hoard." 
Then  Maltete  said,  "  As  God  made  me, 
A  wizard  over-bold  is  he  !  " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  It  were  a  good  deed,  as  I  am  a  knight, 
To  burn  him  in  a  fire  bright; 
This  John-a-Wood  shall  surely  die. 
And  his  gold  in  my  strong  chest  shall  lie. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  This  very  night,  I  make  mine  avow. 
The  truth  of  this  mine  eyes  shall  know.'* 
Then  spoke  an  old  knight  in  the  hall, 
"  Who  knoweth  what  things  may  befall  ?  " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  I  rede  thee  go  with  a  great  rout. 
For  thy  foes  they  ride  thick  about." 
"  Thou  and  the  devil  may  keep  my  foes, 
Thou  redest  me  this  gold  to  lose. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum!' 

"  I  shall  go  with  but  some  four  or  five, 

So  shall  I  take  my  thief  alive. 

For  if  a  great  rout  he  shall  see. 

Will  he  not  hide  his  wealth  from  me  ?  " 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

6 


82  THE   GOD  OF  THE  POOR. 

The  old  knight  muttered  under  his  breath, 
"Then  mayhap  ye  shall  but  ride  to  death." 
But  Maltete  turned  him  quickly  round, 
*'  Bind  me  this  gray-beard  under  ground  ! 
T>eus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Because  ye  are  old,  ye  think  to  jape. 
Take  heed,  ye  shall  not  long  escape. 
When  I  come  back  safe,  old  carle,  perdie. 
Thine  head  shall  brush  the  linden-tree." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Therewith  he  rode  with  his  five  men. 
And  Boncceur's  spy,  for  good  leagues  ten. 
Until  they  left  the  beaten  way. 
And  dusk  it  grew  at  end  of  day. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

There,  in  a  clearing  of  the  wood. 
Was  John's  house,  neither  fair  nor  good. 
In  a  ragged  plot  his  house  anigh, 
Thin  coleworts  grew  but  wretchedly. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


John-a-Wood  in  his  doorway  sat, 
Turning  over  this  and  that. 
And  chiefly  how  he  best  might  thrive. 
For  he  had  will  enough  to  live. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE   GOD   OF  THE  POOR.  ^2i 

Green  coleworts  from  a  wooden  bowl 
He  ate;   but  careful  was  his  soul, 
For  if  he  saw  another  day, 
Thenceforth  was  he  in  Boncoeur's  pay. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

So  when  he  saw  how  Maltete  came. 
He  said,  "  Beginneth  now  the  game  !  " 
And  in  the  doorway  did  he  stand 
Trembling,  with  hand  joined  fast  to  hand. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

When  Maltete  did  this  carle  behold 
Somewhat  he  doubted  of  his  gold, 
But  cried  out,  "Where  is  now  thy  store 
Thou  hast  through  books  of  wicked  lore  ?  " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Then  said  the  poor  man,  right  humbly, 
"  Fair  lord,  this  was  not  made  by  me, 
I  found  it  in  mine  own  dry  well. 
And  had  a  mind  thy  grace  to  tell. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Therefrom,  my  lord,  a  cup  I  took 
This  day,  that  thou  thereon  mightst  look. 
And  know  me  to  be  leal  and  true," 
And  from  his  coat  the  cup  he  drew. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


84  THE   GOD   OF  THE  POOR. 

Then  Maltete  took  it  in  his  hand, 
Nor  knew  he  ought  that  it  used  to  stand 
On  Boncoeur's  cupboard  many  a  day. 
"Go  on,"  he  said,  "and  show  the  way. 
Deus  est  Deus  ■pauper um, 

"  Give  me  thy  gold,  and  thou  shalt  live, 
Yea,  in  my  house  thou  well  mayst  thrive." 
John  turned  about  and  'gan  to  go 
Unto  the  wood  with  footsteps  slow. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauper um. 

But  as  they  passed  by  John's  woodstack. 
Growled  Maltete,  "  Nothing  now  doth  lack 
Wherewith  to  light  a  merry  fire. 
And  give  my  wizard  all  his  hire." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


The  western  sky  was  red  as  blood. 
Darker  grew  the  oaken-wood  ; 
"  Thief  and  carle,  where  are  ye  gone  ? 
Why  are  we  in  the  wood  alone? 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"What  is  the  sound  of  this  mighty  horn? 
Ah,  God  !   that  ever  I  was  born  ! 
The  basnets  flash  from  tree  to  tree ; 
Show  me,  thou  Christ,  the  way  to  flee  !  " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE   GOD   OF  THE  POOR.  85 


Boncoeur  it  was  with  fifty  men  ; 
Maltete  was  but  one  to  ten, 
And  his  own  folk  prayed  for  grace, 
With  empty  hands  in  that  lone  place. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Grace  shall  ye  have,"  Boncoeur  said, 
"All  of  you  but  Evil-head." 
Lowly  could  that  great  lord  be, 
Who  could  pray  so  well  as  he  ? 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Then  could  Maltete  howl  and  cry. 
Little  will  he  had  to  die. 
Soft  was  his  speech,  now  it  was  late, 
But  who  had  will  to  save  Maltete  ^. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

They  brought  him  to  the  house  again. 
And  toward  the  road  he  looked  in  vain. 
Lonely  and  bare  was  the  great  highway. 
Under  the  gathering  moonlight  grey. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

They  took  off  his  gilt  basnet, 
That  he  should  die  there  was  no  let; 
They  took  off  his  coat  of  steel, 
A  damned  man  he  well  might  feel. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


86  THE   GOD   OF  THE  POOR. 

*'  Will  ye  all  be  rich  as  kings, 

Lacking  naught  of  all  good  things  ?  " 

"Nothing  do  we  lack  this  eve  ; 

When  thou  art  dead,  how  can  we  grieve  ? " 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum, 

"  Let  me  drink  water  ere  I  die, 
None  henceforth  comes  my  lips  anigh." 
They  brought  it  him  in  that  bowl  of  wood. 
He  said,  *'  This  is  but  poor  men's  blood !  " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

They  brought  it  him  in  the  cup  of  gold. 
He  said,  *'  The  women  I  have  sold 
Have  wept  it  full  of  salt  for  me  ; 
I  shall  die  gaping  thirstily." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

On  the  threshold  of  that  poor  homestead 
They  smote  off  his  evil  head  ; 
They  set  it  high  on  a  great  spear. 
And  rode  away  with  merry  cheer. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

At  the  dawn,  in  lordly  state. 
They  rode  to  Maltete's  castle-gate. 
"Whoso  willeth  laud  to  win, 
Make  haste  to  let  your  masters  in  !  '* 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Forthwith  opened  they  the  gate, 
No  man  was  sorry  for  Maltete. 


THE   GOD   OF  THE  POOR.  S'J 


Boncoeur  conquered  all  his  lands, 
A  good  knight  was  he  of  his  hands. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Good  men  he  loved,  and  hated  bad ; 
Joyful  days  and  sweet  he  had ; 
Goods  deeds  did  he  plenteously ; 
Beneath  him  folk  lived  frank  and  free. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

He  lived  long,  with  merry  days ; 
None  said  aught  of  him  but  praise. 
God  on  him  have  full  merc)'^ ; 
A  good  knight  merciful  was  he. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


The  great  lord,  called  Maltete,  is  dead  ; 
Grass  grows  above  his  feet  and  head. 
And  a  holly-bush  grows  up  between 
His  rib-bones  gotten  white  and  clean. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

A  carle's  sheep-dog  certainly 

Is  a  mightier  thing  than  he. 

Till  London-bridge  shall  cross  the  Nen, 

Take  we  heed  of  such-like  men. 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


88  LOVE'S  REWARD. 

LOVE'S    REWARD. 

IT  was  a  knight  of  the  southern  land 
Rode  forth  upon  the  way 
When  the  birds  sang  sweet  on  either  hand 
About  the  middle  of  the  May. 

But  when  he  came  to  the  lily-close, 
Thereby  so  fair  a  maiden  stood, 
That  neither  the  lily  nor  the  rose 
Seemed  any  longer  fair  nor  good. 

"  All  hail,  thou  rose  and  lily-bough  ! 
What  dost  thou  weeping  here, 
For  the  days  of  May  are  sweet  enow. 
And  the  nights  of  May  are  dear  ?  " 

"Well  may  I  weep  and  make  my  moan. 
Who  am  bond  and  captive  here ; 
Well  may  I  weep  who  lie  alone. 
Though  May  be  waxen  dear." 

"And  is  there  none  shall  ransom  thee  ; 
Mayst  thou  no  borrow  find  ?  " 
"  Nay,  what  man  may  my  borrow  be, 
When  all  my  wealth  is  left  behind  ?  " 

"  Perchance  some  ring  is  left  with  thee. 
Some  belt  that  did  thy  body  bind  ?  " 
"  Nay,  no  man  may  my  borrow  be, 
!My  rings  and  belt  are  left  behind." 


LOVE'S  REWARD.  89 

"The  shoes  that  the  May-blooms  kissed  on  thee 
Might  yet  be  things  to  some  men's  mind." 
"  Nay,  no  man  may  my  borrow  be, 
My  golden  shoes  are  left  behind." 

"  The  milk-white  sark  that  covered  thee 
A  dear-bought  token  some  should  find." 
"  Nay,  no  man  may  my  borrow  be, 
My  silken  sark  is  left  behind." 

"The  kiss  of  thy  mouth  and  the  love  of  thee 
Better  than  world's  wealth  should  I  find." 
"  Nay,  thou  mayst  not  my  borrow  be. 
For  all  my  love  is  left  behind. 

"A  year  agone  come  Midsummer-night 
I  woke  by  the  Northern  sea ; 
I  lay  and  dreamed  of  my  delight 
Till  love  no  more  would  let  me  be. 

"  Seaward  I  went  by  night  and  cloud 
To  hear  the  white  swans  sing; 
But  though  they  sang  both  clear  and  loud, 
I  hearkened  a  sweeter  thing. 

"O  sweet  and  sweet  as  none  may  tell 
Was  the  speech  so  close  'twixt  lip  and  lip : 
But  fast,  unseen,  the  black  oars  fell 
That  drave  to  shore  the  rover's  ship. 

"  My  love  lay  bloody  on  the  strand 
Ere  stars  were  waxen  wan  : 


90 


LOVrS  REWARD. 


Naught  lacketh  graves  the  Northern  land 
If  to-day  it  lack  a  lovelier  man. 

"  I  sat  and  wept  beside  the  mast 

When  the  stars  were  gone  away. 

Naught  lacketh  the  Northland  joy  gone  past 

If  it  lack  the  night  and  day." 


"  Is  there  no  place  in  any  land 
Where  thou  wouldst  rather  be  than  here?" 
"Yea,  a  lone  grave  on  a  cold  sea-strand 
My  heart  for  a  little  holdeth  dear." 

"  Of  all  the  deeds  that  women  do 
Is  there  none  shall  bring  thee  some  delight  ?  " 
"  To  lie  down  and  die  where  lay  we  two 
Upon  Midsummer  night." 

"  I  will  bring  thee  there  where  thou  wouldst  be, 

A  borrow  shalt  thou  find." 

"  Wherewith  shall  I  reward  it  thee 

For  wealth  and  good-hap  left  behind  }  " 

"  A  kiss  from  lips  that  love  not  me, 
A  good-night  somewhat  kind ; 
A  narrow  house  to  share  with  thee 
When  we  leave  the  world  behind." 


LOVE'S  REWARD. 

They  have  taken  ship  and  sailed  away 
Across  the  Southland  main  ; 
They  have  sailed  by  hills  were  green  and  gay, 
A  land  of  goods  and  gain. 

They  have  sailed  by  sea-clifFs  stark  and  white 
And  hillsides  fair  enow; 
They  have  sailed  by  lands  of  little  night 
Where  great  the  groves  did  grow. 

They  have  sailed  by  islands  in  the  sea 
That  the  clouds  lay  thick  about ; 
And  into  a  main  where  few  ships  be 
Amidst  of  dread  and  doubt. 

With  broken  mast  and  battered  side 
They  drave  amidst  the  tempest's  heart ; 
But  why  should  death  to  these  betide 
Whom  love  did  hold  so  well  apart  ? 

The  flood  it  drave  them  toward  the  strand, 
The  ebb  it  drew  them  fro  ; 
The  swallowing  seas  that  tore  the  land 
Cast  them  ashore  and  let  them  go. 


"  Is  this  the  land  ?   is  this  the  land, 
Where  life  and  I  must  part  a-twain  ?  " 
"Yea,  this  is  e'en  the  sea-washed  strand 
That  made  me  yoke-fellow  of  pain. 


91 


92 


LOVE'S  REWARD. 


"  The  strand  is  this,  the  sea  is  this, 
The  grey  bent  and  the  mountains  grey; 
But  no  mound  here  his  grave-mound  is; 
Where  have  they  borne  my  love  away  ? " 

"  What  man  is  this  with  shield  and  spear 
Comes  riding  down  the  bent  to  us  ? 
A  goodly  man  forsooth  he  were 
But  for  his  visage  piteous." 

*' Ghost  of  my  love,  so  kind  of  yore, 
Art  thou  not  somewhat  gladder  grown 
To  feel  my  feet  upon  this  shore  ? 
O  love,  thou  shalt  not  long  be  lone." 

"  Ghost  of  my  love,  each  day  I  come 
To  see  where  God  first  wrought  us  wrong 
Now  kind  thou  com'st  to  call  me  home, 
Be  sure  I  shall  not  tarry  long." 


"  Come  here,  my  love ;   come  here  for  rest, 
So  sore  as  my  body  longs  for  thee  ! 
My  heart  shall  beat  against  thy  breast 
As  arms  of  thine  shall  comfort  me." 

"  Love,  let  thy  lips  depart  no  more 
From  those  same  eyes  they  once  did  kiss, 
The  very  bosom  wounded  sore 
When  sorrow  clave  the  heart  of  bliss  !  " 


LOVE'S  REWARD. 

O  was  it  day,  or  was  it  night, 
As  there  they  told  their  love  again  ? 
The  high-tide  of  the  sun's  delight. 
Or  whirl  of  wind  and  drift  of  rain? 

"  Speak  sweet,  my  love,  of  how  it  fell, 
And  how  thou  cani'st  across  the  sea. 
And  what  kind  heart  hath  served  thee  well. 
And  who  thy  borrow  there  might  be?" 

Naught  but  the  wind  and  sea  made  moan 
As  hastily  she  turned  her  round ; 
From  light  clouds  wept  the  morn  alone, 
Not  the  dead  corpse  upon  the  ground. 

**  O  look,  my  love,  for  here  is  he 
Who  once  of  all  the  world  was  kind. 
And  led  my  sad  heart  o'er  the  sea! 
And  now  must  he  be  left  behind." 

She  kissed  his  lips  that  yet  did  smile. 
She  kissed  his  eyes  that  were  not  sad : 
*'  O  thou  who  sorrow  didst  beguile. 
And  now  wouldst  have  me  wholly  glad  ! 

"A  little  gift  is  this,"  she  said, 
"Thou  once  hadst  deemed  great  gift  enow; 
Yet  surely  shalt  thou  rest  thine  head 
Where  I  one  day  shall  lie  alow. 


93 


94 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY   THE  RIVER. 


"  There  shalt  thou  wake  to  think  of  me. 
And  by  thy  face  my  face  shall  find ; 
And  I  shall  then  thy  borrow  be 
When  all  the  world  is  left  behind." 


THE    FOLK-MOTE    BY    THE    RIVER. 


I 


T  was  up  in  the  morn  we  rose  betimes 

From  the  hall-floor  hard  by  the  row  of  limes. 

It  was  but  John  the  Red  and  I, 

And  we  were  the  brethren  of  Gregory; 

And  Gregory  the  Wright  was  one 
Of  the  valiant  men  beneath  the  sun. 

And  what  he  bade  us  that  we  did 
For  ne'er  he  kept  his  counsel  hid. 

So  out  we  went,  and  the  clattering  latch 
Woke  up  the  swallows  under  the  thatch. 

It  was  dark  in  the  porch,  but  our  scythes  we  felt, 
And  thrust  the  whetstone  under  the  belt. 

Through  the  cold  garden  boughs  we  went 
Where  the  tumbling  roses  shed  their  scent. 

Then  out  a-gates  and  away  we  strode 
O'er  the  dewy  straws  on  the  dusty  road. 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER. 

And  there  was  the  mead  by  the  town-reeve's  close 
Where  the  hedge  was  sweet  with  the  wilding  rose. 

Then  into  the  mowing  grass  we  went 
Ere  the  very  last  of  the  night  was  spent. 

Young  was  the  moon,  and  he  was  gone, 
So  we  whet  our  scythes  by  the  stars  alone : 

But  or  ever  the  long  blades  felt  the  hay 
Afar  in  the  East  the  dawn  was  grey. 

Or  ever  we  struck  our  earliest  stroke 
The  thrush  in  the  hawthorn-bush  avv^oke. 

While  yet  the  bloom  of  the  swathe  was  dim 
The  black-bird's  bill  had  answered  him. 

Ere  half  of  the  road  to  the  river  was  shorn 
The  sunbeam  smote  the  twisted  thorn. 


Now  wide  was  the  way  'twixt  the  standing  grass 
For  the  townfolk  unto  the  mote  to  pass, 

And  so  when  all  our  work  was  done 
We  sat  to  breakfast  in  the  sun, 

While  down  in  the  stream  the  dragon-fly 
'Twixt  the  quivering  rushes  flickered  by  ; 


95 


96  THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER. 

And  though  our  knives  shone  sharp  and  white 
The  swift  bleak  heeded  not  the  sight. 


So  when  the  bread  was  done  away 
We  looked  along  the  new-shorn  hay, 

And  heard  the  voice  of  the  gathering- horn 
Come  over  the  garden  and  the  corn  ; 

For  the  wind  was  in  the  blossoming  wheat 
And  drave  the  bees  in  the  lime-boughs  sweet. 

Then  loud  was  the  horn's  voice  drawing  near. 
And  it  hid  the  talk  of  the  prattling  weir. 

And  now  was  the  horn  on  the  pathway  wide 
That  we  had  shorn  to  the  river-side. 

So  up  we  stood,  and  wide  around 

We  sheared  a  space  by  the  Elders'  Mound ; 

And  at  the  feet  thereof  it  was 

That  highest  grew  the  June-tide  grass  ; 

And  over  all  the  mound  it  grew 
With  clover  blent,  and  dark  of  hue. 

But  never  aught  of  the  Elders'  Hay 
To  rick  or  barn  was  borne  away. 

But  it  was  bound  and  burned  to  ash 
In  the  barren  close  by  the  reedy  plash. 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER.  97 

For  'neath  that  mound  the  valiant  dead 
Lay  hearkening  words  of  valiance  said 

When  wise  men  stood  on  the  Elders'  Mound, 
And  the  swords  were  shining  bright  around. 


And  now  we  saw  the  banners  borne 
On  the  first  of  the  way  that  we  had  shorn; 
So  we  laid  the  scythe  upon  the  sward 
And  girt  us  to  the  battle-sword. 

For  after  the  banners  well  we  knew 
Were  the  Freemen  wending  two  and  two. 

There  then  that  high-way  of  the  scythe 
With  many  a  hue  was  brave  and  blythe. 

And  first  below  the  Silver  Chief 
Upon  the  green  was  the  golden  sheaf. 

And  on  the  next  that  went  by  it 
The  White  Hart  in  the  Park  did  sit. 

Then  on  the  red  the  White  Wings  flew, 
And  on  the  White  was  the  Cloud-fleck  blue. 

Last  went  the  Anchor  of  the  Wrights 
Beside  the  Ship  of  the  Faring-Knights. 

Then  thronged  the  folk  the  June-tide  field 
With  naked  sword  and  painted  shield, 

7 


98  THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER. 

Till  they  came  adown  to  the  river-side, 
And  there  by  the  mound  did  they  abide. 


Now  when  the  swords  stood  thick  and  white 
As  the  mace  reeds  stand  in  the  streamless  bight, 

There  rose  a  man  on  the  mound  alone 
And  over  his  head  was  the  grey  mail  done. 

When  over  the  new-shorn  place  of  the  field 
Was  nought  but  the  steel  hood  and  the  shield. 

The  face  on  the  mound  shone  ruddy  and  hale. 
But  the  hoar  hair  showed  from  the  hoary  mail. 

And  there  rose  a  hand  by  the  ruddy  face 
And  shook  a  sword  o'er  the  peopled  place. 

And  there  came  a  voice  from  the  mound  and  said 
"O  sons,  the  days  of  my  youth  are  dead, 

And  gone  are  the  faces  I  have  known 

In  the  street  and  the  booths  of  the  goodly  town. 

O  sons,  full  many  a  flock  have  I  seen 
Feed  down  this  water-girdled  green. 

Full  many  a  herd  of  long- horned  neat 
Have  I  seen  'twixt  water-side  and  wheat. 

Here  by  this  water-side  full  oft 
Have  I  heaved  the  flowery  hay  aloft. 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER.  99 

And  oft  this  water-side  anigh 

Have  I  bowed  adown  the  wheat-stalks  high. 

And  yet  meseems  I  live  and  learn 
And  lore  of  younglings  yet  must  earn. 

For  tell  me,  children,  whose  are  these 
Fair  meadows  of  the  June's  increase. 

Whose  are  these  flocks  and  whose  the  neat, 
And  whose  the  acres  of  the  wheat  ?  " 


Scarce  did  we  hear  his  latest  word, 
On  the  wide  shield  so  rang  the  sword. 

So  rang  the  sword  upon  the  shield 

That  the  lark  was  hushed  above  the  field. 

Then  sank  the  shouts  and  again  we  heard 
The  old  voice  come  from  the  hoary  beard 


"Yea,  whose  are  yonder  gables  then, 
And  whose  the  holy  hearths  of  men  ? 
Whose  are  the  prattling  children  there, 
And  whose  the  sunburnt  maids  and  fair? 

Whose  thralls  are  ye,  hereby  that  stand, 
Bearing  the  freeman's  sword  in  hand  ?  " 


lOO  THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER. 

As  glitters  the  sun  in  the  rain-washed  grass, 
So  in  the  tossing  swords  it  was  ; 

As  the  thunder  rattles  along  and  adown 
E'en  so  was  the  voice  of  the  weaponed  town. 

And  there  was  the  steel  of  the  old  man's  sword, 
And  there  was  his  hollow  voice,  and  his  word  : 


"  Many  men  many  minds,  the  old  saw  saith. 
Though  hereof  ye  be  sure  as  death. 

For  what  spake  the  herald  yestermorn 
But  this,  that  ye  were  thrall-folk  born ; 

That  the  lord  that  owneth  all  and  some 
Would  send  his  men  to  fetch  us  home 

Betwixt  the  haysel,  and  the  tide 

When  they  shear  the  corn  in  the  country-side  ? 

O  children.  Who  was  the  lord  ?  ye  say, 
What  prayer  to  him  did  our  fathers  pray  ? 

Did  they  hold  out  hands  his  gyves  to  bear? 
Did  their  knees  his  high  hall's  pavement  wear  ? 

Is  his  house  built  up  in  heaven  aloft? 
Doth  he  make  the  sun  rise  oft  and  oft  ? 

Doth  he  hold  the  rain  In  his  hollow  hand  ? 
Hath  he  cleft  this  water  through  the  land  ? 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER.  lOI 

Or  doth  he  stay  the  summer-tide, 
And  make  the  winter  days  abide  ? 

O  children,  Who  is  the  lord  ?  ye  say, 
Have  we  heard  his  name  before  to-day  ? 

O  children,  if  his  name  I  know. 

He  hight  Earl  Hugh  of  the  Shivering  Low: 

For  that  herald  bore  on  back  and  breast 
The  Black  Burg  under  the  Eagle's  Nest." 


As  the  voice  of  the  winter  wind  that  tears 

At  the  eaves  of  the  thatch  and  its  emptied  ears. 

E'en  so  was  the  voice  of  laughter  and  scorn 
By  the  water-side  in  the  mead  new-shorn ; 

And  over  the  garden  and  the  wheat 
Went  the  voice  of  women  shrilly-sweet. 


But  now  by  the  hoary  elder  stood 
A  carle  in  raiment  red  as  blood. 

Red  was  his  weed  and  his  glaive  was  white, 
And  there  stood  Gregory  the  Wright. 

So  he  spake  in  a  voice  was  loud  and  strong: 
"Young  is  the  day  though  the  road  is  long; 


I02  THE  FOLK- MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER. 

There  is  time  if  we  tarry  nought  at  all 

For  the  kiss  in  the  porch  and  the  meat  in  the  hall. 

And  safe  shall  our  maidens  sit  at  home 
For  the  foe  by  the  way  we  wend  must  come. 

Through  the  three  Lavers  shall  we  go 
And  raise  them  all  against  the  foe. 

Then  shall  we  wend  the  Downland  ways. 
And  all  the  shepherd  spearmen  raise. 

To  Cheaping  Raynes  shall  we  come  adown 
And  gather  the  bowmen  of  the  town; 

And  Greenstead  next  we  come  unto 
Wherein  are  all  folk  good  and  true. 

When  we  come  our  ways  to  the  Outer  Wood 
We  shall  be  an  host  both  great  and  good ; 

Yea  when  we  come  to  the  open  field 
There  shall  be  a  many  under  shield. 

And  maybe  Earl  Hugh  shall  lie  alow 
And  yet  to  the  house  of  Heaven  shall  go. 

But  we  shall  dwell  in  the  land  we  love 
And  grudge  no  hallow  Heaven  above. 

Come  ye,  who  think  the  time  o'er  long 
Till  we  have  slain  the  word  of  wrong ! 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER.  IO3 

Come  ye  who  deem  the  life  of  fear 
On  this  last  day  hath  drawn  o'er  near ! 

Come  after  me  upon  the  road 
That  leadeth  to  the  Erne's  abode." 


Down  then  he  leapt  from  off  the  mound 
And  back  drew  they  that  were  around 

Till  he  was  foremost  of  all  those 
Betwixt  the  river  and  the  close. 

And  uprose  shouts  both  glad  and  strong 
As  followed  after  all  the  throng ; 

And  overhead  the  banners  flapped, 

As  we  went  on  our  ways  to  all  that  happed. 


The  fields  before  the  Shivering  Low 
Of  many  a  grief  of  manfolk  know; 

There  may  the  autumn  acres  tell 
Of  how  men  met,  and  what  befell. 

The  Black  Burg  under  the  Eagle's  nest 
Shall  tell  the  tale  as  it  liketh  best. 

And  sooth  it  is  that  the  River-land 
Lacks  many  an  autumn-gathering  hand. 


I04 


THE    VOICE   OF  TOIL. 


And  there  are  troth-plight  maids  unwed 
Shall  deem  awhile  that  love  is  dead; 

And  babes  there  are  to  men  shall  grow 
Nor  ever  the  face  of  their  fathers  know. 

And  yet  in  the  Land  by  the  River-side 
Doth  never  a  thrall  or  an  earl's  man  bide; 

For  Hugh  the  Earl  of  might  and  mirth 
Hath  left  the  merry  days  of  Earth ; 

And  we  live  on  in  the  land  we  love, 
And  grudge  no  hallow  Heaven  above. 


THE   VOICE   OF   TOIL. 

I   HEARD  men  saying,  Leave  hope  and  praying, 
All  days  shall  be  as  all  have  been  ; 
To-day  and  to-morrow  bring  fear  and  sorrow, 
The  never-ending  toil  between. 

When  Earth  was  younger  mid  toil  and  hunger, 
In  hope  we  strove,  and  our  hands  were  strong; 
Then  great  men  led  us,  with  words  they  fed  us, 
And  bade  us  right  the  earthly  wrong. 

Go  read  in  story  their  deeds  and  glory. 
Their  names  amidst  the  nameless  dead  ; 
Turn  then  from  lying  to  us  slow-dying 
In  that  good  world  to  which  they  led; 


THE    VOICE   OF  TOIL. 


105 


Where  fast  and  faster  our  iron  master, 
The  thing  we  made,  for  ever  drives. 
Bids  us  grind  treasure  and  fashion  pleasure 
For  other  hopes  and  other  lives. 

Where  home  is  a  hovel  and  dull  we  grovel. 
Forgetting  that  the  world  is  fair; 
Where  no  babe  we  cherish,  lest  its  very  soul  perish  ; 
Where  mirth  is  crime,  and  love  a  snare. 

Who  now  shall  lead  us,  what  god  shall  heed  us 
As  we  lie  in  the  hell  our  hands  have  won  ? 
For  us  are  no  rulers  but  fools  and  befoolers, 
The  great  are  fallen,  the  wise  men  gone. 


I  heard  men  saying,  Leave  tears  and  praying, 
The  sharp  knife  heedeth  not  the  sheep  ; 
Are  we  not  stronger  than  the  rich  and  the  wronger. 
When  day  breaks  over  dreams  and  sleep  ? 

Come,  shoulder  to  shoulder  ere  the  world  grows  older ! 
Help  lies  in  nought  but  thee  and  me; 
Hope  is  before  us,  the  long  years  that  bore  us 
Bore  leaders  more  than  men  may  be. 

Let  dead  hearts  tarry  and  trade  and  marry, 
And  trembling  nurse  their  dreams  of  mirth. 
While  we  the  living  our  lives  are  giving 
To  bring  the  bright  new  world  to  birth. 


I06  GUNNAR'S  HOWE. 

Come,  shoulder  to  shoulder  ere  earth  grows  older  ! 
The  Cause  spreads  over  land  and  sea ; 
Now  the  world  shaketh,  and  fear  awaketh. 
And  joy  at  last  for  thee  and  me. 


GUNNAR'S    HOWE  ABOVE   THE    HOUSE 
AT    LITHEND. 

YE  who  have  come  o'er  the  sea 
to  behold  this  grey  minster  of  lands. 
Whose  floor  is  the  tomb  of  time  past, 
and  whose  walls  by  the  toil  of  dead  hands 
Show  pictures  amidst  of  the  ruin 
of  deeds  that  have  overpast  death, 
Stay  by  this  tomb  in  a  tomb 
to  ask  of  who  lieth  beneath. 
Ah  !   the  world  changeth  too  soon, 
that  ye  stand  there  with  unbated  breath. 
As  I  name  him  that  Gunnar  of  old, 
who  erst  in  the  haymaking  tide 
Felt  all  the  land  fragrant  and  fresh, 
as  amidst  of  the  edges  he  died. 
Too  swiftly  fame  fadeth  away, 
if  ye  tremble  not  lest  once  again 
The  grey  mound  should  open  and  show  him 
glad-eyed  without  grudging  or  pain. 
Little  labour  methinks  to  behold  him 
but  the  tale-teller  laboured  in  vain. 


THE  DAY  IS  COMING. 

Little  labour  for  ears  that  may  hearken 

to  hear  his  death-conquering  song, 

Till  the  heart  swells  to  think  of  the  gladness 

undying  that  overcame  wrong. 

O  young  is  the  world  yet  meseemeth 

and  the  hope  of  it  flourishing  green, 

When  the  words  of  a  man  unremembered 

so  bridge  all  the  days  that  have  been. 

As  we  look  round  about  on  the  land 

that  these  nine  hundred  years  he  hath  seen. 

Dusk  is  abroad  on  the  grass 

of  this  valley  amidst  of  the  hill: 

Dusk  that  shall  never  be  dark 

till  the  dawn  hard  on  midnight  shall  fill 

The  trench  under  Eyiafell's  snow, 

and  the  grey  plain  the  sea  meeteth  grey. 

White,  high  aloft  hangs  the  moon 

that  no  dark  night  shall  brighten  ere  day, 

For  here  day  and  night  toileth  the  summer 

lest  deedless  his  time  pass  away. 


THE    DAY    IS    COMING. 

COME  hither  lads  and  hearken, 
for  a  tale  there  is  to  tell. 
Of  the  wonderful  days  a-coming,  when  all 
shall  be  better  than  well. 


107 


I08  THE  DAY  IS  COMING. 

And  the  tale  shall  be  told  of  a  country, 
a  land  in  the  midst  of  the  sea, 
And  folk  shall  call  it  England 
in  the  days  that  are  going  to  be. 

There  more  than  one  in  a  thousand 
in  the  days  that  are  yet  to  come, 
Shall  have  some  hope  of  the  morrow, 
some  joy  of  the  ancient  home. 


For  then,  laugh  not,  but  listen, 
to  this  strange  tale  of  mine, 
All  folk  that  are  in  England 
shall  be  better  lodged  than  swine. 

Then  a  man  shall  work  and  bethink  him, 
and  rejoice  in  the  deeds  of  his  hand. 
Nor  yet  come  home  in  the  even 
too  faint  and  weary  to  stand. 

Men  in  that  time  a-coming 
shall  work  and  have  no  fear 
For  to-morrow's  lack  of  earning 
and  the  hunger-wolf  anear. 

I  tell  you  this  for  a  wonder, 
that  no  man  then  shall  be  glad 
Of  his  fellow's  fall  and  mishap 
to  snatch  at  the  work  he  had. 


THE  DAY  IS  COMING.  lOQ 

For  that  which  the  worker  winneth 
shall  then  be  his  indeed, 
Nor  shall  half  be  reaped  for  nothing 
by  him  that  sowed  no  seed. 

O  strange  new  wonderful  justice  ! 
But  for  whom  shall  we  gather  the  gain  ? 
For  ourselves  and  for  each  of  our  fellows, 
and  no  hand  shall  labour  in  vain. 

Then  all  Mine  and  all  Thine  shall  be  Ours, 
and  no  more  shall  any  man  crave 
For  riches  that  serve  for  nothing 
but  to  fetter  a  friend  for  a  slave. 


And  what  wealth  then  shall  be  left  us 
when  none  shall  gather  gold 
To  buy  his  friend  in  the  market, 
and  pinch  and  pine  the  sold  ? 

Nay,  what  save  the  lovely  city, 

and  the  little  house  on  the  hill, 

And  the  wastes  and  the  woodland  beauty, 

and  the  happy  fields  we  till ; 

And  the  homes  of  ancient  stories, 
the  tombs  of  the  mighty  dead  ; 
And  the  wise  men  seeking  out  marvels, 
and  the  poet's  teeming  head  ; 


I  I  o  THE  DA  Y  IS  COMING. 

And  the  painter's  hand  of  wonder  ; 
and  the  marvellous  fiddle-bow. 
And  the  banded  choirs  of  music: 
all  those  that  do  and  know. 

For  all  these  shall  be  ours  and  all  men's, 

nor  shall  any  lack  a  share 

Of  the  toil  and  the  gain  of  living 

in  the  days  when  the  world  grows  fair. 


Ah  !   such  are  the  days  that  shall  be  ! 
But  what  are  the  deeds  of  to-day, 

In  the  days  of  the  years  we  dwell  in, 

that  wear  our  lives  away  ? 

Why,  then,  and  for  what  are  we  waiting  ? 

There  are  three  words  to  speak ; 

We  will  it,  and  what  is  the  foeman 

but  the  dream-strong  wakened  and  weak  ? 

O  why  and  for  what  are  we  waiting? 
while  our  brothers  droop  and  die. 
And  on  every  wind  of  the  heavens 
a  wasted  life  goes  by. 

How  long  shall  they  reproach  us 
where  crowd  on  crowd  they  dwell. 
Poor  ghosts  of  the  wicked  city, 
the  gold-crushed  hungry  hell .'' 


THE  DA  Y  IS  COMING.  I  I  I 

Through  squalid  life  they  laboured, 
in  sordid  grief  they  died, 
Those  sons  of  a  mighty  mother, 
those  props  of  England's  pride. 

They  are  gone ;   there  is  none  can  undo  it, 

nor  save  our  souls  from  the  curse ; 

But  many  a  million  cometh, 

and  shall  they  be  better  or  worse  ? 

It  is  we  must  answer  and  hasten, 
and  open  wide  the  door 
For  the  rich  man's  hurrying  terror, 
and  the  slow-foot  hope  of  the  poor. 

Yea,  the  voiceless  wrath  of  the  wretched, 
and  their  unlearned  discontent, 
We  must  give  it  voice  and  wisdom 
till  the  waiting-tide  be  spent. 


Come,  then,  since  all  things  call  us, 
the  living  and  the  dead, 
And  o'er  the  weltering  tangle 
a  glimmering  light  is  shed. 

Come,  then,  let  us  cast  off  fooling, 
and  put  by  ease  and  rest, 
For  the  Cause  alone  is  worthy 
till  the  good  days  bring  the  best. 


112   EARTH   THE  HEALER,  EARTH  THE  KEEPER, 

Come,  join  in  the  only  battle 
wherein  no  man  can  fail, 
Where  whoso  fadeth  and  dieth, 
yet  his  deed  shall  still  prevail. 

Ah!   come,  cast  off  all  fooling, 

for  this,  at  least,  we  know  : 

That  the  Dawn  and  the  Day  is  coming, 

and  forth  the  Banners  go. 


EARTH    THE    HEALER,    EARTH    THE 
KEEPER. 

SO  swift  the  hours  are  moving 
Unto  the  time  un-proved : 
Farewell  my  love  unloving. 
Farewell  my  love  beloved  ! 

What !   are  we  not  glad-hearted  ? 

Is  there  no  deed  to  do  ? 

Is  not  all  fear  departed 

And  Spring-tide  blossomed  new  ? 

The  sails  swell  out  above  us. 
The  sea-ridge  lifts  the  keel ; 
For  They  have  called  who  love  us, 
Who  bear  the  gifts  that  heal : 

A  crown  for  him  that  winneth, 
A  bed  for  him  that  fails, 


EARTH  THE  HEALER,  EARTH  THE  KEEPER.        II3 

A  glory  that  beginneth 
In  never-dying  tales. 

Yet  now  the  pain  is  ended 

And  the  glad  hand  grips  the  sword. 

Look  on  thy  life  amended 

And  deal  out  due  award. 

Think  of  the  thankless  morning, 
The  gifts  of  noon  unused; 
Think  of  the  eve  of  scorning, 
The  night  of  prayer  refused. 

And  yet.     The  life  before  it, 
Dost  thou  remember  aught, 
What  terrors  shivered  o'er  it 
Born  from  the  hell  of  thought  ? 

And  this  that  cometh  after : 
How  dost  thou  live,  and  dare 
To  meet  its  empty  laughter. 
To  face  its  friendless  care  ? 

In  fear  didst  thou  desire. 
At  peace  dost  thou  regret. 
The  wasting  of  the  fire, 
The  tangling  of  the  net. 

Love  came  and  gat  fair  greeting; 
Love  went ;   and  left  no  shame. 
Shall  both  the  twilights  meeting 
The  summer  sunlight  blame? 

8 


114   EARTH   THE  HEALER,  EARTH  THE  KEEPER. 

What !   Cometh  love  and  goeth 
Like  the  dark  night's  empty  wind. 
Because  thy  folly  soweth 
The  harvest  of  the  blind  ? 

Hast  thou  slain  love  with  sorrow? 
Have  thy  tears  quenched  the  sun? 
Nay  even  yet  to-morrow 
Shall  many  a  deed  be  done. 

This  twilight  sea  thou  sailest, 
Has  it  grown  dim  and  black 
For  that  wherein  thou  failest, 
And  the  story  of  thy  lack  ? 

Peace  then  !   for  thine  old  grieving 
Was  born  of  Earth  the  kind, 
And  the  sad  tale  thou  art  leaving 
Earth  shall  not  leave  behind. 

Peace  !   for  that  joy  abiding 
Whereon  thou  layest  hold 
Earth  keepeth  for  a  tiding 
For  the  day  when  this  is  old. 

Thy  soul  and  life  shall  perish. 
And  thy  name  as  last  night's  wind ; 
But  Earth  the  deed  shall  cherish 
That  thou  to-day  shalt  find. 

And  all  thy  joy  and  sorrow 
So  great  but  yesterday, 


ALL  FOR    THE    CA  USE.  I  I  5 


So  light  a  thing  to-morrow. 
Shall  never  pass  away. 

Lo  !   lo  !   the  dawn-blink  yonder, 
The  sunrise  draweth  nigh, 
And  men  forget  to  wonder 
That  they  were  born  to  die. 

Then  praise  the  deed  that  wendeth 
Through  the  daylight  and  the  mirth  ! 
The  tale  that  never  endeth 
Whoso  may  dwell  on  earth. 


ALL    FOR   THE   CAUSE. 

HEAR  a  word,  a  word  in  season, 
for  the  day  is  drawing  nigh, 
"When  the  Cause  shall  call  upon  us, 
some  to  live,  and  some  to  die ! 

He  that  dies  shall  not  die  lonely, 
many  an  one  hath  gone  before ; 
He  that  lives  shall  bear  no  burden 
heavier  than  the  life  they  bore. 

Nothing  ancient  is  their  story, 
e'en  but  yesterday  they  bled, 
Youngest  they  of  earth's  beloved, 
last  of  all  the  valiant  dead. 


I  I  6  ALL  FOR    THE   CA  USE. 

E'en  the  tidings  we  are  telling 

was  the  tale  they  had  to  tell, 

E'en  the  hope  that  our  hearts  cherish, 

was  the  hope  for  which  they  fell. 

In  the  grave  where  tyrants  thrust  them, 
lies  their  labour  and  their  pain. 
But  undying  from  their  sorrow 
springeth  up  the  hope  again. 

Mourn  not  therefore,  nor  lament  it, 
that  the  world  outlives  their  life ; 
Voice  and  vision  yet  they  give  us, 
making  strong  our  hands  for  strife. 

Some  had  name,  and  fame,  and  honour, 
learn'd  they  were,  and  wise  and  strong; 
Some  were  nameless,  poor,  unlettered, 
weak  in  all  but  grief  and  wrong. 

Named  and  nameless  all  live  in  us ; 
one  and  all  they  lead  us  yet 
Every  pain  to  count  for  nothing, 
every  sorrow  to  forget. 

Hearken  how  they  cry,  "  O  happy, 
happy  ye  that  ye  were  born 
In  the  sad  slow  night's  departing, 
in  the  rising  of  the  morn. 

"  Fair  the  crown  the  Cause  hath  for  you, 
well  to  die  or  v/ell  to  live 


ALL   FOR    THE   CAUSE. 

Through  the  battle,  through  the  tangle, 
peace  to  gain  or  peace  to  give." 

Ah,  it  may  be  !   Oft  meseemeth, 
in  the  days  that  yet  shall  be. 
When  no  slave  of  gold  abideth 
'twixt  the  breadth  of  sea  to  sea. 

Oft,  when  men  and  maids  are  merry, 
ere  the  sunlight  leaves  the  earth, 
And  they  bless  the  day  beloved, 
all  too  short  for  all  their  mirth. 

Some  shall  pause  awhile  and  ponder 
on  the  bitter  days  of  old, 
Ere  the  toil  of  strife  and  battle 
overthrew  the  curse  of  gold  ; 

Then  'twixt  lips  of  loved  and  lover 
solemn  thoughts  of  us  shall  rise ; 
We  who  once  were  fools  defeated, 
then  shall  be  the  brave  and  wise. 

There  amidst  the  world  new-builded 
shall  our  earthly  deeds  abide. 
Though  our  names  be  all  forgotten, 
and  the  tale  of  how  we  died. 

Life  or  death  then,  who  shall  heed  it, 
what  we  gain  or  what  we  lose  ? 
Fair  flies  life  amid  the  struggle, 
and  the  Cause  for  each  shall  choose. 


117 


Il8  PAIN  AND    TIME  STRIVE  NOT. 

Hear  a  word,  a  word  in  season, 
for  the  day  is  drawing  nigh. 
When  the  Cause  shall  call  upon  us, 
some  to  live,  and  some  to  die  ! 


PAIN   AND    TIME    STRIVE  NOT. 

WHAT  part  of  the  dread  eternity- 
Are  those  strange  minutes  that  I  gain. 
Mazed  with  the  doubt  of  love  and  pain. 
When  I  thy  delicate  face  may  see, 
A  little  while  before  farewell  ? 

What  share  of  the  world's  yearning-tide 
That  flash,  when  new  day  bare  and  white 
Blots  out  my  half-dream's  faint  delight. 
And  there  is  nothing  by  my  side, 
And  well  remembered  is  farewell  ? 

What  drop  in  the  grey  flood  of  tears 

That  time,  when  the  long  day  toiled  through. 

Worn  out,  shows  nought  for  me  to  do, 

And  nothing  worth  my  labour  bears 

The  longing  of  that  last  farewell  ? 

What  pity  from  the  heavens  above, 

What  heed  from  out  eternity, 

What  word  from  the  swift  world  for  me  ? 


VERSES  FOR  PICTURES.  I  I  9 


Speak,  heed,  and  pity,  O  tender  love, 
Who  knew'st  the  days  before  farewell ! 


DRAWING    NEAR   THE   LIGHT. 

LO,  when  we  wade  the  tangled  wood. 
In  haste  and  hurry  to  be  there, 
Nought  seem  its  leaves  and  blossoms  good, 
For  all  that  they  be  fashioned  fair. 

But  looking  up,  at  last  we  see 
The  glimmer  of  the  open  light. 
From  o'er  the  place  where  we  would  be: 
Then  grow  the  very  brambles  bright. 

So  now,  amidst  our  day  of  strife. 
With  many  a  matter  glad  we  play. 
When  once  we  see  the  light  of  life 
Gleam  through  the  tangle  of  to-day. 


VERSES   FOR    PICTURES. 

Day. 

I   AM  Day;    I  bring  again 
Life  and  glory.  Love  and  pain  : 
Awake,  arise  !   from  death  to  death 
Through  me  the  World's  tale  quickeneth. 


I20  VERSES  FOR  PICTURES. 

Spring. 

Spring  am  I,  too  soft  of  heart 

Much  to  speak  ere  I  depart : 

Ask  the  Summer-tide  to  prove 

The  abundance  of  my  love. 

Summer. 

Summer  looked  for  long  am  I ; 

Much  shall  change  or  e'er  I  die 

Prithee  take  it  not  amiss 

Though  I  weary  thee  with  bliss. 

Autumn. 

Laden  Autumn  here  I  stand 

Worn  of  heart,  and  weak  of  hand  : 

Nought  but  rest  seems  good  to  me. 

Speak  the  word  that  sets  me  free. 

Winter. 

I  am  Winter,  that  do  keep 

Longing  safe  amidst  of  sleep  : 

Who  shall  say  if  I  were  dead 

What  should  be  remembered  ? 

Night. 

I  am  Night :   I  bring  again 

Hope  of  pleasure,  rest  from  pain: 

Thoughts  unsaid  'twixt  Life  and  Death 

My  fruitful  silence  quickeneth. 


VERSES  FOR   PICTURES.  121 

FOR    THE    BRIAR    ROSE. 

'The  Briarwood. 

The  fateful  slumber  floats  and  flows 

About  the  tangle  of  the  rose ; 

But  lo  !   the  fated  hand  and  heart 

To  rend  the  slumberous  curse  apart ! 

The  Council  Room. 

The  threat  of  war,  the  hope  of  peace, 
The  Kingdom's  peril  and  increase 
Sleep  on,  and  bide  the  latter  day. 
When  fate  shall  take  her  chain  away. 

The  Garden  Court. 
The  maiden  pleasance  of  the  land 
Knoweth  no  stir  of  voice  or  hand. 
No  cup  the  sleeping  waters  fill. 
The  restless  shuttle  lieth  still. 

The  Rosebower. 

Here  lies  the  hoarded  love,  the  key 
To  all  the  treasure  that  shall  be; 
Come  fated  hand  the  gift  to  take, 
And  smite  this  sleeping  world  awake. 


ANOTHER    FOR   THE    BRIAR-ROSE. 

O  treacherous  scent,  O  thorny  sight, 
O  tangle  of  world's  wrong  and  right, 


122  VERSES  FOR  PICTURES. 

What  art  thou  'gainst  my  armour's  gleam 
But  dusky  cobwebs  of  a  dream  ? 

Beat  down,  deep  sunk  from  every  gleam 
Of  hope,  they  lie  and  dully  dream  ; 
Men  once,  but  men  no  more,  that  Love 
Their  waste  defeated  hearts  should  move. 

Here  sleeps  the  world  that  would  not  love! 
Let  it  sleep  on,  but  if  He  move 
Their  hearts  in  humble  wise  to  wait 
On  his  new-wakened  fair  estate. 

0  won  at  last  is  never  late  ! 

Thy  silence  was  the  voice  of  fate ; 
Thy  still  hands  conquered  in  the  strife ; 
Thine  eyes  were  light ;   thy  lips  v/ere  life. 

THE   WOODPECKER. 

1  once  a  King  and  chief 
Now  am  the  tree-bark's  thief. 
Ever  'twixt  trunk  and  leaf 
Chasing  the  prey. 

THE    LION. 

The  Beasts  that  be 
In  wood  and  waste. 
Now  sit  and  see. 
Nor  ride  nor  haste. 


VERSES  FOR  PICTURES.  I  23 

THE    FOREST. 

Pear-tree. 

By  woodman's  edge  I  faint  and  fail ; 

By  craftsman's  edge  I  tell  the  tale. 

Chestnut-tree. 

High  in  the  wood,  high  o'er  the  hall. 

Aloft  I  rise  when  low  I  fall. 

Oak-tree. 

Unmoved  I  stand  what  wind  may  blow. 

Swift,  swift  before  the  wind  I  go. 


POMONA. 

I  am  the  ancient  Apple-Queen, 
As  once  I  was  so  am  I  now. 
For  evermore  a  hope  unseen, 
Betwixt  the  blossom  and  the  bough. 

Ah,  where 's  the  river's  hidden  Gold! 
And  where  the  windy  grave  of  Troy? 
Yet  come  I  as  I  came  of  old, 
From  out  the  heart  of  Summer's  joy. 


FLORA. 

I  am  the  handmaid  of  the  earth, 
I  broider  fair  her  glorious  gown, 


I  24  VERSES  FOR  PICTURES. 

And  deck  her  on  her  days  of  mirth 
With  many  a  garland  of  renov/n. 

And  while  Earth's  little  ones  are  fain 
And  play  about  the  Mother's  hem 
I  scatter  every  gift  I  gain 
From  sun  and  wind  to  gladden  them. 


THE    ORCHARD. 

Midst  bitten  mead  and  acre  shorn, 
The  world  without  is  waste  and  worn. 

But  here  within  our  orchard-close, 
The  guerdon  of  its  labour  shows. 

O  valiant  Earth,  O  happy  year 
That  mocks  the  threat  of  winter  near. 

And  hangs  aloft  from  tree  to  tree 
The  banners  of  the  Spring  to  be. 


TAPESTRY   TREES. 

Oak, 

T  am  the  Roof-tree  and  the  Keel ; 

I  bridge  the  seas  for  woe  and  weal. 


VERSES  FOR  PICTURES.  I  25 

Fir. 

High  o'er  the  lordly  oak  I  stand, 

And  drive  him  on  from  land  to  land. 

Ash. 

I  heft  my  brother's  iron  bane ; 

I  shaft  the  spear,  and  build  the  wain. 

Tew. 

Dark  down  the  windy  dale  I  grow, 

The  father  of  the  fateful  Bow. 

Poplar. 

The  war-shaft  and  the  milking-bowl 

I  make,  and  keep  the  hay-wain  whole. 

Olive. 

The  King  I  bless  ;   the  lamps  I  trim ; 

In  my  warm  wave  do  fishes  swim. 

Apple-tree. 

I  bowed  my  head  to  Adam's  will ; 

The  cups  of  toiling  men  I  fill. 

Vine. 

I  draw  the  blood  from  out  the  earth ; 

I  store  the  sun  for  winter  mirth. 

Orange-tree. 

Amidst  the  greenness  of  my  night. 

My  odorous  lamps  hang  round  and  bright. 

Fig-tree. 

I  who  am  little  among  trees 

In  honey-making  mate  the  bees. 


126  THE  END  OF  MAY. 

Mulberry-tree. 

Love's  lack  hath  dyed  my  berries  red : 

For  Love's  attire  my  leaves  are  shed. 

Pear-tree. 

High  o'er  the  mead-flowers'  hidden  feet 

I  bear  aloft  my  burden  sweet. 

Bay. 

Look  on  my  leafy  boughs,  the  Crown 

Of  living  song  and  dead  renown  ! 

THE   FLOWERING   ORCHARD. 

Silk  Embroidery. 

Lo  silken  my  garden, 

and  silken  my  sky, 

And  silken  my  apple-boughs 

hanging  on  high ; 

All  wrought  by  the  Worm 

in  the  peasant  carle's  cot 

On  the  Mulberry  leafage 

when  summer  was  hot ! 

THE    END    OF    MAY. 

HOW  the  wind  howls  this  morn 
About  the  end  of  May, 
And  drives  June  on  apace 
To  mock  the  world  forlorn 
And  the  world's  joy  passed  away 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE   GONE.  12'J 

And  my  unlonged-for  face  ! 
The  world's  joy  passed  away  ; 
For  no  more  may  I  deem 
That  any  folk  are  glad 
To  see  the  dawn  of  day 
Sunder  the  tangled  dream 
Wherein  no  grief  they  had. 
Ah,  through  the  tangled  dream 
Where  others  have  no  grief 
Ever  it  fares  with  me 
That  fears  and  treasons  stream 
And  dumb  sleep  slays  belief 
Whatso  therein  may  be. 
Sleep  slayeth  all  belief 
Until  the  hopeless  light 
Wakes  at  the  birth  of  June 
More  lying  tales  to  weave, 
More  love  in  woe's  despite. 
More  hope  to  perish  soon. 

THE    HALF   OF   LIFE    GONE. 

THE  days  have  slain  the  days, 
and  the  seasons  have  gone  by 
And  brought  me  the  summer  again  ; 
and  here  on  the  grass  I  lie 
As  erst  I  lay  and  was  glad 
ere  I  meddled  with  right  and  with  wrong. 
Wide  lies  the  mead  as  of  old, 


128  THE  HALF  OF  LIFE   GONE. 

and  the  river  is  creeping  along 

By  the  side  of  the  elm-clad  bank 

that  turns  its  weedy  stream  ; 

And  grey  o'er  its  hither  lip 

the  quivering  rushes  gleam. 

There  is  work  in  the  mead  as  of  old ; 

they  are  eager  at  winning  the  hay, 

While  every  sun  sets  bright 

and  begets  a  fairer  day. 

The  forks  shine  white  in  the  sun 

round  the  yellow  red-wheeled  wain, 

Where  the  mountain  of  hay  grows  fast; 

and  now  from  out  of  the  lane 

Comes  the  ox-team  drawing  another, 

comes  the  bailiff  and  the  beer. 

And  thump,  thump,  goes  the  farmer's  nag 

o'er  the  narrow  bridge  of  the  weir. 

High  up  and  light  are  the  clouds, 

and  though  the  swallows  flit 

So  high  o'er  the  sunlit  earth, 

they  are  well  a  part  of  it. 

And  so,  though  high  over  theni, 

are  the  wings  of  the  wandering  heme ; 

In  measureless  depths  above  him 

doth  the  fair  sky  quiver  and  burn ; 

The  dear  sun  floods  the  land 

as  the  morning  falls  toward  noon. 

And  a  little  wind  is  awake 

in  the  best  of  the  latter  June. 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE   GONE. 

They  are  busy  winning  the  hay, 

and  the  life  and  the  picture  they  make. 

If  I  were  as  once  I  was, 

I  should  deem  it  made  for  my  sake ; 

For  here  if  one  need  not  work 

is  a  place  for  happy  rest. 

While  one's  thought  wends  over  the  world 

north,  south,  and  east  and  west. 


There  are  the  men  and  the  maids, 
and  the  wives  and  the  gaffers  grey 
Of  the  fields  I  know  so  well, 
and  but  little  changed  are  they 
Since  I  was  a  lad  amongst  them ; 
and  yet  how  great  is  the  change  ! 
Strange  are  they  grown  unto  me  ; 
yea  I  to  myself  am  strange. 
Their  talk  and  their  laughter  mingling 
with  the  music  of  the  meads 
Has  now  no  meaning  to  me 
to  help  or  to  hinder  my  needs. 
So  far  from  them  have  I  drifted. 
And  yet  amidst  of  them  goes 
A  part  of  myself,  my  boy, 
and  of  pleasure  and  pain  he  knows. 
And  deems  it  something  strange, 
when  he  is  other  than  glad. 

9 


129 


I30 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE   GONE. 


Lo  now  !   the  woman  that  stoops 
and  kisses  the  face  of  the  lad. 
And  puts  a  rake  in  his  hand 
and  laughs  in  his  laughing  face. 
Whose  is  the  voice  that  laughs 
in  the  old  familiar  place  ? 
Whose  should  it  be  but  my  love's, 
if  my  love  were  yet  on  the  earth  ? 
Could  she  refrain  from  the  fields 
where  my  joy  and  her  joy  had  birth, 
When  I  was  there  and  her  child, 
on  the  grass  that  knew  her  feet 
'Mid  the  flowers  that  led  her  on 
when  the  summer  eve  was  sweet  ? 


No,  no,  it  is  she  no  longer; 
never  again  can  she  come 
And  behold  the  hay-wains  creeping 
o'er  the  meadows  of  her  home; 
No  more  can  she  kiss  her  son 
or  put  the  rake  in  his  hand 
That  she  handled  a  while  agone 
in  the  midst  of  the  haymaking  band. 
Her  laughter  is  gone  and  her  life; 
there  is  no  such  thing  on  the  earth. 
No  share  for  me  then  in  the  stir, 
no  share  in  the  hurry  and  mirth. 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE    GONE.  131 

Nay,  let  me  look  and  believe 

that  all  these  will  vanish  away. 

At  least  when  the  night  has  fallen, 

and  that  she  will  be  there  'mid  the  hay, 

Happy  and  weary  with  work, 

waiting  and  longing  for  love. 

There  will  she  be,  as  of  old, 

when  the  great  moon  hung  above, 

And  lightless  and  dead  was  the  village, 

and  nought  but  the  weir  was  awake ; 

There  will  she  rise  to  meet  me, 

and  my  hands  will  she  hasten  to  take. 

And  thence  shall  we  wander  away, 

and  over  the  ancient  bridge 

By  many  a  rose-hung  hedgerow, 

till  we  reach  the  sun-burnt  ridge 

And  the  great  trench  digged  by  the  Romans : 

there  then  awhile  shall  we  stand. 

To  watch  the  dawn  come  creeping 

o'er  the  fragrant  lovely  land, 

Till  all  the  world  awaketh, 

and  draws  us  down,  we  twain, 

To  the  deeds  of  the  field  and  the  fold 

and  the  merry  summer's  gain. 


132 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE    GONE. 


Ah  thus,  only  thus  shall  I  see  her, 

in  dreams  of  the  day  or  the  night, 

When  my  soul  is  beguiled  of  its  sorrow 

to  remember  past  delight. 

She  is  gone.     She  was  and  she  is  not; 

there  is  no  such  thing  on  the  earth 

But  e'en  as  a  picture  painted ; 

and  for  me  there  is  void  and  dearth 

That  I  cannot  name  or  measure. 

Yet  for  me  and  all  these  she  died, 

E'en  as  she  lived  for  awhile, 

that  the  better  day  might  betide. 

Therefore  I  live,  and  I  shall  live 

till  the  last  day's  work  shall  fail. 

Have  patience  now  but  a  little 

and  I  will  tell  you  the  tale 

Of  how  and  why  she  died, 

and  why  I  am  weak  and  worn. 

And  have  wandered  away  to  the  meadows 

and  the  place  where  I  was  born ; 

But  here  and  to-day  I  cannot ; 

for  ever  my  thought  will  stray 

To  that  hope  fulfilled  for  a  little 

and  the  bliss  of  the  earlier  day. 

Of  the  great  world's  hope  and  anguish 

to-day  I  scarce  can  think; 

Like  a  ghost,  from  the  lives  of  the  living 

and  their  earthly  deeds  I  shrink. 

I  will  go  adown  by  the  water 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE   GONE.  I  3; 

and  over  the  ancient  bridge, 

And  Vv^end  in  our  footsteps  of  old 

till  1  come  to  the  sun-burnt  ridge, 

And  the  great  trench  digged  by  the  Romans ; 

and  thence  awhile  will  1  gaze. 

And  see  three  teeming  counties 

stretch  out  till  they  fade  in  the  haze ; 

And  in  all  the  dwellings  of  man 

that  thence  mine  eyes  shall  see, 

What  man  as  hapless  as  I  am 

beneath  the  sun  shall  be? 

O  fool,  what  words  are  these  ? 

Thou  hast  a  sorrow  to  nurse, 

And  thou  hast  been  bold  and  happy ; 

but  these,  if  they  utter  a  curse, 

No  sting  it  has  and  no  meaning, 

it  is  empty  sound  on  the  air. 

Thy  life  is  full  of  mourning, 

and  theirs  so  empty  and  bare. 

That  they  have  no  words  of  complaining ; 

nor  so  happy  have  they  been 

That  they  may  measure  sorrow 

or  tell  what  grief  may  mean. 

And  thou,  thou  hast  deeds  to  do, 

and  toil  to  meet  thee  soon; 

Depart  and  ponder  on  these 

through  the  sun-worn  afternoon. 


134 


MINE  AND    THINE. 


MINE    AND    THINE. 

FROM  A  FLEMISH  POEM  OF  THE  FOUR- 
TEENTH CENTURY. 

TWO  words  about  the  world  we  see, 
And  nought  but  Mine  and  Thine  they  be. 
Ah  !   might  we  drive  them  forth  and  wide 
With  us  should  rest  and  peace  abide ; 
All  free,  nought  owned  of  goods  and  gear, 
By  men  and  women  though  it  were. 
Common  to  all  all  wheat  and  wine 
Over  the  seas  and  up  the  Rhine. 
No  manslayer  then  the  wide  world  o'er 
When  Mine  and  Thine  are  known  no  more. 
Yea,  God,  well  counselled  for  our  health. 
Gave  all  this  fleeting  earthly  wealth 
A  common  heritage  to  all, 
That  men  might  feed  them  therewithal. 
And  clothe  their  limbs  and  shoe  their  feet 
And  live  a  simple  life  and  sweet. 
But  now  so  rageth  greediness 
That  each  desireth  nothing  less 
Than  all  the  world,  and  all  his  own; 
And  all  for  him  and  him  alone. 


THE  LAY  OF  CHRISTINE.  I  35 

THE    LAY   OF    CHRISTINE. 
TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  ICELANDIC. 

OF  silk  my  gear  was  shapen, 
Scarlet  they  did  on  me, 
Then  to  the  sea-strand  was  I  borne 
And  laid  in  a  bark  of  the  sea, 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

Befell  it  there  I  might  not  drown. 
For  God  to  me  was  good  ; 
The  billows  bare  me  up  a-land 
Where  grew  the  fair  green-wood. 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

There  came  a  Knight  a-riding 
With  three  swains  along  the  way 
And  he  took  me  up,  the  little-one, 
On  the  sea-sand  as  I  lay. 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

He  took  me  up,  and  bare  me  home 
To  the  house  that  was  his  own. 
And  there  bode  I  so  long  with  him 
That  I  was  his  love  alone. 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

But  the  very  first  night  we  lay  abed 
Befell  his  sorrow  and  harm. 


136  THE  LAY  OF  CHRISTINE. 

That  thither  came  the  King's  ill  men, 

And  slew  him  on  mine  arm. 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

There  slew  they  Adalbright  the  King, 

Two  of  his  swains  slew  they. 

But  the  third  sailed  swiftly  from  the  land 

Sithence  I  saw  him  never  a  day. 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

O  wavering  hope  of  this  world's  bliss. 
How  shall  men  trow  in  thee  ? 
My  Grove  of  Gems  is  gone  away 
For  mine  eyes  no  more  to  see  ! 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

Each  hour  the  while  my  life  shall  last 

Remembereth  him  alone. 

Such  heavy  sorrow  have  I  got 

From  our  meeting  long  agone. 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

O,  early  in  the  morning-tide 

Men  cry:    "Christine  the  fair, 

Art  thou  well  content  with  that  true  love 

Thou  sittest  loving  there  ?  " 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

"Ah,  yea,  so  well  I  love  him, 
And  so  dear  my  love  shall  be, 


HILDEBRAND  AND  HELLELIL.  I  37 

That  the  very  God  of  Heaven  aloft 

Worshippeth  him  and  me. 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

"  Ah,  all  the  red  gold  I  have  got 
Well  would  I  give  to-day, 
Only  for  this  and  nothing  else 
From  the  world  to  win  away." 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

"  Nay,  midst  all  folk  upon  the  earth 

Keep  thou  thy  ruddy  gold, 

And  love  withal  the  mighty  lord 

That  wedded  thee  of  old." 

O  well  were  1  from  the  World  away. 


HILDEBRAND    AND    HELLELIL. 
TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    DANISH. 

HELLELIL  sitteth  in  bov/er  there. 
None  knows  my  grief  but  God  alone j 
And  seweth  at  the  seam  so  fair, 
/  never  wail  my  sorrow  to  any  other  one. 

But  there  whereas  the  gold  should  be 
With  silk  upon  the  cloth  sewed  she. 

Where  she  should  sew  with  silken  thread 
The  gold  upon  the  cloth  she  laid. 

So  to  the  Queen  the  word  came  in 
That  Hellelil  wild  work  doth  win. 


138  HILDEBRAND  AND  HELLELIL. 

Then  did  the  Queen  do  furs  on  her, 
And  went  to  Hellelil  the  fair. 

"O  swiftly  sewest  thou,  Hellelil, 

Yet  nought  but  mad  is  thy  sewing  still !  " 

"Well  my  sewing  be  but  mad 
Such  evil  hap  as  I  have  had. 

My  father  was  good  king  and  lord, 
Knights  fifteen  served  before  his  board. 

He  taught  me  sewing  royally, 

Twelve  knights  had  watch  and  ward  of  me. 

Well  served  eleven  day  by  day. 
To  folly  the  twelfth  did  me  bewray. 

And  this  same  was  hight  Hildebrand, 
The  King's  son  of  the  English  Land. 

But  in  bower  were  we  no  sooner  laid 

Than  the  truth  thereof  to  my  father  was  said. 

Then  loud  he  cried  o'er  garth  and  hall : 

*  Stand  up,  my  men,  and  arm  ye  all  1 

'Yea  draw  on  mail  and  dally  not, 
Hard  neck  lord  Hildebrand  hath  got !  ' 

They  stood  by  the  door  with  glaive  and  spear; 

*  Hildebrand  rise  and  hasten  here  !  ' 


HILDEBRAND  AND  HELLELIL.  I  39 

Lord  Hildebrand  stroked  my  Vv'hite  white  cheek: 
'  O  love,  forbear  my  name  to  speak. 

'  Yea  even  if  my  blood  thou  see, 
Name  me  not,  lest  my  death  thou  be.' 

Out  from  the  door  lord  Hildebrand  leapt. 
And  round  about  his  good  sword  swept. 

The  first  of  all  that  he  slew  there 

Were  my  seven  brethren  with  golden  hair. 

Then  before  him  stood  the  youngest  one 
And  dear  he  was  in  the  days  agone. 

Then  I  cried  out:    *0  Hildebrand, 

In  the  name  of  God  now  stay  thine  hand. 

*  O  let  my  youngest  brother  live 
Tidings  hereof  to  my  mother  to  give  ! ' 

No  sooner  was  the  word  gone  forth 

Than  with  eight  wounds  fell  my  love  to  earth. 

My  brother  took  me  by  the  golden  hair, 
And  bound  me  to  the  saddle  there. 

There  met  me  then  no  littlest  root, 
But  it  tore  off  somewhat  of  my  foot. 

No  littlest  brake  the  wild-wood  bore. 
But  somewhat  from  my  legs  it  tore. 


140 


HILDEBRAND  AND  HELLELIL. 


No  deepest  dam  we  came  unto 

But  my  brother's  horse  he  swam  it  through. 

But  when  to  the  castle  gate  we  came, 

There  stood  my  mother  in  sorrow  and  shame. 

My  brother  let  raise  a  tower  high, 
Bestrewn  with  sharp  thorns  inwardly. 

He  took  me  in  my  silk  shirt  bare 
And  cast  me  into  that  tower  there. 

And  wheresoe'er  my  legs  I  laid 
Torment  of  the  thorns  I  had. 

Wheresoe'er  on  feet  I  stood 

The  prickles  sharp  drew  forth  my  blood. 

My  youngest  brother  me  would  slay 

But  my  mother  would  have  me  sold  away. 

A  great  new  bell  my  price  did  buy 
In  Mary's  Church  to  hang  on  high. 

But  the  first  stroke  that  ever  it  strake 
My  mother's  heart  asunder  brake." 

So  soon  as  her  sorrow  and  woe  was  said. 
None  knows  my  grief  but  God  alone. 
In  the  arm  of  the  Queen  she  sat  there  dead, 
/  never  tell  my  sorrow  to  any  other  one. 


THE  SON'S  SORROW.  I4I 

THE   SON'S   SORROW.     FROM  THE    ICE- 
LANDIC. 

THE  King  has  asked  of  his  son  so  good, 
"Why  art  thou  hushed  and  heavy  of  mood? 
O  fair  it  is  to  ride  abroad. 
Thou  playest  not,  and  thou  laughest  not; 
All  thy  good  game  is  clean  forgot." 

'*  Sit  thou  beside  me,  father  dear, 

And  the  tale  of  my  sorrow  shalt  thou  hear. 

Thou  sendedst  me  unto  a  far-off  land. 
And  gavest  me  into  a  good  Earl's  hand. 

Now  had  this  good  Earl  daughters  seven, 
The  fairest  of  maidens  under  heaven. 

One  brought  me  my  meat  when  I  should  dine, 
One  cut  and  sewed  my  raiment  fine. 

One  washed  and  combed  my  yellow  hair. 
And  one  I  fell  to  loving  there. 

Befell  it  on  so  fair  a  day. 

We  minded  us  to  sport  and  play. 

Down  in  a  dale  my  horse  bound  I, 
Bound  on  my  saddle  speedily. 

Bright  red  she  was  as  the  flickering  flame 
When  to  my  saddle-bow  she  came. 


142 


THE  SON'S  SORROW. 


Beside  my  saddle-bow  she  stood, 

'  To  flee  with  thee  to  my  heart  were  good.' 

Kind  was  my  horse  and  good  to  aid, 
My  love  upon  his  back  I  laid. 

We  gat  us  from  the  garth  away, 
And  none  was  ware  of  us  that  day. 

But  as  we  rode  along  the  sand 
Behold  a  barge  lay  by  the  land. 

So  in  that  boat  did  we  depart, 

And  rowed  away  right  glad  at  heart. 

When  we  came  to  the  dark  wood  and  the  shade 
To  raise  the  tent  my  true-love  bade. 

Three  sons  my  true-love  bore  me  there, 
And  syne  she  died  who  was  so  dear. 

A  grave  I  wrought  her  with  my  sword. 
With  my  fair  shield  the  mould  I  poured. 

First  in  the  mould  I  laid  my  love. 
Then  all  my  sons  her  breast  above. 

And  I  without  must  lie  alone; 
So  from  the  place  I  gat  me  gone." 

No  man  now  shall  stand  on  his  feet 
To  love  that  love,  to  woo  that  sweet : 
O  fair  it  is  to  ride  abroad. 


AGNES  AND    THE  HILL-MAN.  1 43 

AGNES  AND    THE    HILL-MAN. 
TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    DANISH. 

AGNES  went  through  the  meadows  a-weeping, 
Fowl  are  a-singing. 
There  stood  the  hill-man  heed  thereof  keeping. 
Agnes.,  fair  Agnes  I 

"Come  to  the  hill,  fair  Agnes,  with  me. 
The  reddest  of  gold  will  I  give  unto  thee  !  " 

Twice  went  Agnes  the  hill  round  about. 

Then  wended  within,  left  the  fair  world  without. 

In  the  hillside  bode  Agnes,  three  years  thrice  told  o'er, 
For  the  green  earth  sithence  fell  she  longing  full  sore. 

There  she  sat,  and  lullaby  sang  in  her  singing. 

And  she  heard  how  the  bells  of  England  were  ringing. 

Agnes  before  her  true-love  did  stand : 

"  May  I  wend  to  the  church  of  the  English  Land  ?  " 

"  To  England's  Church  well  mayst  thou  be  gone. 
So  that  no  hand  thou  lay  the  red  gold  upon. 

"  So  that  when  thou  art  come  the  churchyard  anear 
Thou  cast  not  abroad  thy  golden  hair. 

"  So  that  when  thou  standest  the  church  within 
To  thy  mother  on  bench  thou  never  win. 

"  So  that  when  thou  hearest  the  high  God's  name, 
No  knee  unto  earth  thou  bow  to  the  same." 


144  KNIGHT  A  AG  EN  AND  MAIDEN  ELSE. 

Hand  she  laid  on  all  gold  that  was  there, 
And  cast  abroad  her  golden  hair. 

And  when  the  church  she  stood  within 

To  her  mother  on  bench  straight  did  she  win. 

And  when  she  heard  the  high  God's  name, 
Knee  unto  earth  she  bowed  to  the  same. 

When  all  the  mass  was  sung  to  its  end 
Home  with  her  mother  dear  did  she  wend. 

"  Come,  Agnes,  into  the  hillside  to  me. 

For  thy  seven  small  sons  greet  sorely  for  thee  !  " 

"  Let  them  greet,  let  them  greet,  as  they  have  will  to  do 
For  never  again  will  I  hearken  thereto  !  " 

Weird  laid  he  on  her,  sore  sickness  he  wrought. 
Fowl  are  a-singing. 

That  self-same  hour  to  death  was  she  brought. 
Agnes  J  fair  Agnes  I 


KNIGHT   AAGEN    AND    MAIDEN    ELSE. 
TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    DANISH. 

IT  was  the  fair  knight  Aagen 
To  an  isle  he  went  his  way, 
And  plighted  troth  to  Else, 
Who  was  so  fair  a  may. 


KNIGHT  A  AG  EN  AND  MAIDEN  ELSE.  1 45 

He  plighted  troth  to  Else 

All  with  the  ruddy  gold, 

But  or  ere  that  day's  moon  came  again 

Low  he  lay  in  the  black,  black  mould. 

It  was  the  maiden  Else, 

She  was  fulfilled  of  woe 

When  she  heard  how  the  fair  knight  Aagen 

In  the  black  mould  lay  alow. 

Uprose  the  fair  knight  Aagen, 
Coffin  on  back  took  he, 
And  he  's  away  to  her  bower, 
Sore  hard  as  the  work  might  be. 

With  that  same  chest  on  door  he  smote. 
For  the  lack  of  flesh  and  skin  ; 
"O  hearken,  maiden  Else, 
And  let  thy  true-love  in  !  " 

Then  answered  maiden  Else, 

"  Never  open  I  my  door. 

But  and  if  thou  namest  Jesu's  name 

As  thou  hadst  might  before." 

"  O  hearken,  maiden  Else, 
And  open  thou  thy  door, 
For  Jesu's  name  I  well  may  name 
As  I  had  might  before  !  " 

Then  uprose  maiden  Else, 
O'er  her  cheek  the  salt  tears  ran, 

10 


146  KNIGHT  A  AG  EN  AND  MAIDEN  ELSE. 

Nor  spared  she  into  her  very  bower 
To  welcome  that  dead  man. 

O,  she's  taken  up  her  comb  of  gold 
And  combed  adown  her  hair, 
And  for  every  hair  she  combed  adown 
There  fell  a  weary  tear. 

"Hearken  thou,  knight  Aagen, 
Hearken,  true-love,  and  tell, 
If  down-adown  in  the  black,  black  earth 
Thou  farest  ever  well  ?  " 

*' O  whenso  thou  art  joyous. 
And  the  heart  is  glad  in  thee, 
Then  fares  it  with  my  coffin 
That  red  roses  are  with  me. 

"  But  whenso  thou  art  sorrowful 

And  weary  is  thy  mood, 

Then  all  within  my  coffin 

Is  it  dreadful  with  dark  blood. 

"  Now  is  the  red  cock  a-crowing, 
To  the  earth  adown  must  I  ; 
Down  to  the  earth  wend  all  dead  folk, 
And  I  wend  in  company. 

"  Now  is  the  black  cock  a-crowing. 

To  the  earth  must  I  adown. 

For  the  gates  of  Heaven  are  opening  now, 

Thereto  must  I  begone." 


KNIGHT  A  AG  EN  AND  MAIDEN  ELSE.  1 47 

Uprose  the  fair  knight  Aagen, 
Coffin  on  back,  took  he, 
And  he  's  away  to  the  churchyard  now. 
Sore  hard  as  the  work  might  be. 

But  so  wrought  maiden  Else, 
Because  of  her  weary  mood, 
That  she  followed  after  own  true  love 
All  through  the  mirk  wild  wood. 

But  when  the  wood  was  well  passed  through, 
And  in  the  churchyard  they  were. 
Then  was  the  fair  knight  Aagen 
Waxen  wan  of  his  golden  hair. 

And  when  therefrom  they  wended 
And  were  the  church  within. 
Then  was  the  fair  knight  Aagen 
Waxen  wan  of  cheek  and  chin. 

"  Hearken  thou,  maiden  Else, 
Hearken,  true-love,  to  me. 
Weep  no  more  for  thine  own  troth-plight. 
However  it  shall  be  ! 

"  Look  thou  up  to  the  heavens  aloft. 
To  the  little  stars  and  bright. 
And  thou  shalt  see  how  sweetly 
It  fareth  with  the  night !  " 

She  looked  up  to  the  heavens  aloft. 
To  the  little  stars  bright  above. 


148  HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 

The  dead  man  sank  into  his  grave, 
Ne'er  again  she  saw  her  love. 

Home  then  went  maiden  Else, 
Mid  sorrow  manifold, 
And  ere  that  night's  moon  came  again 
She  lay  alow  in  the  mould. 


HAFBUR   AND    SIGNY.     TRANSLATED 
FROM    THE    DANISH. 

KING  Hafbur  &  King  Siward 
They  needs  must  stir  up  strife. 
All  about  the  sweetling  Signy 
Who  was  so  fair  a  wife. 
O  wilt  thou  win  me  then^ 
or  as  fair  a  maid  as  I  be  ? 

It  was  the  King's  son  Hafbur 
Woke  up  amid  the  night. 
And  'gan  to  tell  of  a  wondrous  dream 
In  swift  words  nowise  light. 

"  Me-dreamed  I  was  in  Heaven 
Amid  that  fair  abode. 
And  my  true-love  lay  upon  mine  arm 
And  we  fell  from  cloud  to  cloud." 

As  there  they  sat,  the  dames  and  maids. 
Of  his  words  they  took  no  keep. 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY.  1 49 

Only  his  mother  well-beloved 
Heeded  his  dreamful  sleep. 

"  Go  get  thee  gone  to  the  mountain. 
And  make  no  long  delay; 
To  the  elve's  eldest  daughter 
For  thy  dream's  areding  pray." 

So  the  King's  son,  even  Hafbur, 
Took  his  sword  in  his  left  hand, 
And  he's  away  to  the  mountain 
To  get  speech  of  that  Lily-wand. 

He  beat  thereon  with  hand  all  bare, 
With  fingers  small  and  fine. 
And  there  she  lay,  the  elve's  daughter. 
And  well  wotted  of  that  sign. 

"  Bide  hail,  Elve's  sweetest  daughter, 
As  on  skins  thou  liest  fair, 
I  pray  thee  by  the  God  of  Heaven 
My  dream  arede  thou  clear. 

"  Me-dreamed  I  was  in  heaven. 
Yea  amid  that  fair  abode, 
And  my  true-love  lay  upon  mine  arm 
And  we  fell  from  cloud  to  cloud." 

"Whereas  thou  dreamed'st  thou  wert  in  heaven. 
So  shalt  thou  win  that  may; 
Dreamed'st  thou  of  falling  through  the  clouds. 
So  falls  for  her  thy  life  away." 


150  HAFBUR  AND  SIC  NY. 

"And  if  it  lieth  in  my  luck 

To  win  to  me  that  may, 

In  no  sorrow's  stead  it  standeth  me 

For  her  to  cast  my  life  away." 

Lord  Haf  bur  lets  his  hair  wax  long, 
And  will  have  the  gear  of  mays. 
And  he  rideth  to  King  Siward's  house 
And  will  well  learn  weaving  ways. 

Lord  Haf  bur  all  his  clothes  let  shape 
In  such  wise  as  maidens  do. 
And  thus  he  rideth  over  the  land 
King  Siward's  daughter  to  woo. 

Now  out  amid  the  castle-garth 
He  cast  his  cloak  aside, 
And  goeth  forth  to  the  high-bower 
Where  the  dames  and  damsels  abide. 


Hail,  sit  ye  there,  dames  and  damsels, 
Maids  and  queens  kind  and  fair. 
And  chiefest  of  all  to  the  Dane-King's  daughter 
If  she  abideth  here  ! 

*'  Hail,  sittest  thou,  sweet  King's  daughter, 

A-spinning  the  silken  twine. 

It  is  King  Haf  bur  sends  me  hither 

To  learn  the  sewing  fine." 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 

Hath  Hafbur  sent  thee  here  to  me  ? 
Then  art  thou  a  welcome  guest, 
And  all  the  sewing  that  I  can 
Shall  I  learn  thee  at  my  best. 

"  And  all  the  sewing  that  I  can 

I  shall  learn  thee  lovingly, 

Out  of  one  bowl  shalt  thou  eat  with  me, 

And  by  my  nurse  shalt  thou  lie." 

"  King's  children  have  I  eaten  with, 
And  lain  down  by  their  side : 
Must  I  lie  abed  now  with  a  very  nurse  ? 
Then  woe  is  me  this  tide  !  " 

"  Nay,  let  it  pass,  fair  maiden  ! 

Of  me  gettest  thou  no  harm. 

Out  of  one  bowl  shalt  thou  eat  with  me 

And  sleep  soft  upon  mine  arm." 

There  sat  they,  all  the  damsels. 
And  sewed  full  craftily; 
But  ever  the  King's  son  Hafbur 
With  nail  in  mouth  sat  he. 

They  sewed  the  hart,  they  sewed  the  hind. 
As  they  run  through  the  wild-wood  green. 
Never  gat  Hafbur  so  big  a  bowl 
But  the  bottom  soon  was  seen. 

In  there  came  the  evil  nurse 
In  the  worst  tide  that  might  be  : 


151 


152  HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 

*'  Never  saw  I  fair  maiden 
Who  could  sew  less  craftily.  ' 

*'  Never  saw  I  fair  maiden 
Seam  worse  the  linen  fine, 
Never  saw  I  noble  maiden 
Who  better  drank  the  wine." 

This  withal  spake  the  evil  nurse, 
The  nighest  that  she  durst: 
"  Never  saw  I  yet  fair  maiden 
Of  drink  so  sore  athirst. 

"  So  little  a  seam  as  ever  she  sews 
Goes  the  needle  into  her  mouth. 
As  big  a  bowl  as  ever  she  gets 
Out  is  it  drunk  forsooth. 

"  Ne'er  saw  I  yet  in  maiden's  head 
Two  eyes  so  bright  and  bold. 
And  those  two  hands  of  her  withal 
Are  hard  as  the  iron  cold." 

"  Hearken,  sweet  nurse,  whereso  thou  art. 
Why  wilt  thou  mock  me  still  \ 
Never  cast  I  one  word  at  thee, 
Went  thy  sewing  well  or  ill. 

"Still  wilt  thou  mock,  still  wilt  thou  spy; 
Nought  such  thou  hast  of  me, 
Whether  mine  eyes  look  out  or  look  in 
Nought  do  they  deal  with  thee." 


IIAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 


153 


O  it  was  Haf  bur  the  King's  son 
Began  to  sew  at  last ; 

He  sewed  the  hart,  and  he  sewed  the  hind, 
As  they  flee  from  the  hound  so  fast. 

He  sewed  the  lily,  and  he  sewed  the  rose. 
And  the  little  fowls  of  the  air; 
Then  fell  the  damsels  a-marvelling, 
For  nought  had  they  missed  him  there. 

Day  long  they  sewed  till  the  evening. 
And  till  the  long  night  was  deep, 
Then  up  stood  dames  and  maidens 
And  were  fain  in  their  beds  to  sleep. 

So  fell  on  them  the  evening-tide. 
O'er  the  meads  the  dew  drave  down. 
And  fain  was  Signy,  that  sweet  thing, 
With  her  folk,  to  bed  to  be  gone. 

Therewith  asked  the  King's  son  Haf  bur, 
"And  whatten  a  bed  for  me?" 
"  O  thou  shalt  sleep  in  the  bower  aloft 
And  blue  shall  thy  bolster  be." 


She  went  before,  sweet  Signy, 
O'er  the  high  bower's  bridge  aright. 
And  after  her  went  Haf  bur 
Laughing  from  heart  grown  light. 


154 


HAFBUR   AND  SIGNY. 


Then  kindled  folk  the  waxlights, 
That  were  so  closely  twined, 
And  after  them  the  ill  nurse  went 
With  an  ill  thought  in  her  mind. 

The  lights  were  quenched,  the  nurse  went  forth, 
They  deemed  they  were  alone : 
Lord  Hafbur  drew  off  his  kirtle  red, 
Then  first  his  sword  outshone. 

Lord  Hafbur  mid  his  longing  sore 
Down  on  the  bed  he  sat : 
I  tell  you  of  my  soothfastness. 
His  byrny  clashed  thereat. 

Then  spake  the  darling  Signy, 
Out  of  her  heart  she  said, 
"  Never  saw  I  so  rough  a  shirt 
Upon  so  fair  a  maid." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  Haf  bur's  breast 
With  the  red  gold  all  a-blaze : 
"  Why  wax  thy  breasts  in  no  such  wise 
As  they  wax  in  other  mays  ?  " 

"  The  wont  it  is  in  my  father's  land 
For  maids  to  ride  to  the  Thing, 
Therefore  my  breasts  are  little  of  growth 
Beneath  the  byrny-ring." 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY.  I  55 

And  there  they  lay  through  the  night  so  long, 

The  King's  son  and  the  may, 

In  talk  full  sweet,  but  little  of  sleep, 

So  much  on  their  minds  there  lay. 

"  Hearken,  sweet  maiden  Signy, 
As  here  alone  we  lie, 
Who  is  thy  dearest  in  the  world. 
And  lieth  thine  heart  most  nigh  ?  " 

"O  there  is  none  in  all  the  world 
Who  lieth  so  near  to  my  heart 
As  doth  the  bold  King  Hafbur: 
Ne'er  in  him  shall  I  have  a  part. 

"As  doth  the  bold  King  Hafbur 

That  mine  eyes  shall  never  know  : 

Nought  but  the  sound  of  his  gold- wrought  horn 

As  he  rides  to  the  Thing  and  fro." 

"  O,  is  it  Hafbur  the  King's  son 
That  thy  loved  heart  holdeth  dear  ? 
Turn  hither,  O  my  well-beloved. 
To  thy  side  I  lie  so  near." 

"If  thou  art  the  King's  son  Hafbur, 
Why  wilt  thou  shame  me  love, 
Why  ridest  thou  not  to  my  father's  garth 
With  hound,  and  with  hawk  upon  glove?" 

"  Once  was  I  in  thy  father's  garth. 
With  hound  and  hawk  and  all : 


156  HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 

And  with  many  mocks  he  said  me  nay, 
In  such  wise  did  our  meeting  fall." 


All  the  while  they  talked  together 

They  deemed  alone  they  were, 

But  the  false  nurse  ever  stood  close  without. 

And  nought  thereof  she  failed  to  hear. 

O  shame  befall  that  evil  nurse, 
111  tidings  down  she  drew. 
She  stole  away  his  goodly  sword, 
But  and  his  byrny  new. 

She  took  to  her  his  goodly  sword. 
His  byrny  blue  she  had  away. 
And  she  went  her  ways  to  the  high  bower 
Whereas  King  Siward  lay. 

"Wake  up,  wake  up.  King  Siward! 
Over  long  thou  sleepest  there. 
The  while  the  King's  son  Haf  bur 
Lies  abed  by  Signy  the  fair." 

"No  Haf  bur  is  here,  and  no  King's  son. 
That  thou  shouldst  speak  this  word  ; 
He  is  far  away  in  the  east-countries. 
Warring  with  knight  and  lord. 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 

"  Hold  thou  thy  peace,  thou  evil  nurse. 

And  lay  on  her  no  lie. 

Or  else  tomorn  ere  the  sun  is  up 

In  the  bale-fire  shall  ye  die." 

"  O  hearken  to  this,  my  lord  and  king, 
And  trow  me  nought  but  true  ; 
Look  here  upon  his  bright  white  sword. 
But  and  his  byrny  blue  !  " 

Then  mad  of  mind  waxed  Siward, 
Over  all  the  house  'gan  he  cry, 
*'  Rise  up,  O  mighty  men  of  mine, 
For  a  hardy  knight  is  anigh : 

"Take  ye  sword  and  shield  in  hand. 
And  look  that  they  be  true ; 
For  Haf  bur  the  King  hath  guested  with  us  ; 
StifFnecked  he  is,  great  deeds  to  do." 

So  there  anigh  the  high-bower  door 
They  stood  with  spear  and  glaive ; 
*'  Rise  up,  rise  up.  Young  Haf  bur. 
Out  here  we  would  thee  have !  " 

That  heard  the  goodly  Signy 
And  she  wrang  her  hands  full  sore : 
"  Hearken  and  heed,  O  Haf  bur, 
Who  stand  without  by  the  door  !  " 

Thank  and  praise  to  the  King's  son  Haf  bur. 
Manly  he  played  and  stout ! 


157 


1^8  HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 

None  might  lay  hand  upon  him 
While  the  bed-post  yet  held  out. 

But  they  took  him,  the  King's  son  Haf  bur. 
And  set  him  in  bolts  new  wrought; 
Then  lightly  he  rent  them  asunder, 
As  though  they  were  leaden  and  nought. 

Out  and  spake  the  ancient  nurse, 
And  she  gave  a  rede  of  ill  : 
*'  Bind  ye  him  but  in  Signy's  hair, 
So  shall  hand  and  foot  lie  still. 

*'  Take  ye  but  one  of  Signy's  hairs 
Hafbur's  hands  to  bind. 
Ne'er  shall  he  rend  them  asunder 
His  heart  to  her  is  so  kind." 

Then  took  they  two  of  Signy's  hairs 
Bonds  for  his  hands  to  be, 
Nor  might  he  rive  them  asunder 
So  dear  to  his  heart  was  she. 

Then  spake  the  sweetling  Signy 

As  the  tears  fast  down  her  cheek  did  fall : 

"  O  rend  it  asunder,  Haf  bur, 

That  gift  to  thee  I  give  withal." 


HAFBUK  AND  SIGNY. 

Now  sat  the  King's  son  Haf  bur 

Amidst  the  castle-hall, 

And  thronged  to  behold  him  man  and  maid, 

But  the  damsels  chiefest  of  all. 

They  took  him,  the  King's  son  Haf  bur. 
Laid  bolts  upon  him  in  that  place. 
And  ever  went  Signy  to  and  fro, 
The  weary  tears  fell  down  apace. 

She  speaketh  to  him  in  sorrowful  mood: 
"This  will  I,  Haf  bur,  for  thee. 
Piteous  prayer  for  thee  shall  make 
My  mother's  sisters  three. 

"  For  my  father's  mind  stands  fast  in  this. 
To  do  thee  to  hang  upon  the  bough 
On  the  topmost  oak  in  the  morning-tide 
While  the  sun  is  yet  but  low." 

But  answered  thereto  young  Haf  bur 
Out  of  a  wrathful  mind: 
"Of  all  heeds  I  heeded,  this  was  the  last. 
To  be  prayed  for  by  womankind. 

"  But  hearken,  true-love  Signy, 

Good  heart  to  my  asking  turn. 

When  thou  seest  me  swing  on  oaken-bough 

Then  let  thy  high-bower  burn." 

Then  answered  the  noble  Signy, 
So  sore  as  she  must  moan. 


159 


l60  HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 

*'  God  to  aid,  King's  son  Haf  bur, 
Well  will  I  grant  thy  boon." 


They  followed  him,  King  Hafbur, 
Thick  thronging  from  the  castle-bent: 
And  all  who  saw  him  needs  must  greet 
And  in  full  piteous  wise  they  went. 

But  when  they  came  to  the  fair  green  mead 
Where  Hafbur  was  to  die. 
He  prayed  them  hold  a  little  while: 
For  his  true-love  would  he  try. 

"O  hang  me  up  my  cloak  of  red, 
That  sight  or  my  ending  let  me  see. 
Perchance  yet  may  King  Siward  rue 
My  hanging  on  the  gallows  tree." 

Now  of  the  cloak  was  Signy  ware 
And  sorely  sorrow  her  heart  did  rive, 
She  thought:    "The  ill  tale  all  is  told, 
No  longer  is  there  need  to  live." 

Straightway  her  damsels  did  she  call 
As  weary  as  she  was  of  mind  : 
"  Come,  let  us  go  to  the  bower  aloft 
Game  and  glee  for  a  while  to  find." 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY.  l6l 


Yea  and  withal  spake  Signy, 
She  spake  a  word  of  price: 
"To-day  shall  I  do  myself  to  death 
And  meet  Haf  bur  in  Paradise. 

"And  whoso  there  be  in  this  our  house 
Lord  Haf  bur's  death  that  wrought. 
Good  reward  I  give  them  now 
To  red  embers  to  be  brought. 

"So  many  there  are  in  the  King's  garth 
Of  Haf  bur's  death  shall  be  glad  ; 
Good  reward  for  them  to  lose 
The  trothplight  mays  they  had." 

She  set  alight  to  the  bower-aloft 
And  it  burned  up  speedily. 
And  her  good  love  and  her  great  heart 
Might  all  with  eyen  see. 


It  was  the  King's  son  Haf  bur 

O'er  his  shoulder  cast  his  eye, 

And  beheld  how  Signy's  house  of  maids 

On  a  red  low  stood  on  high. 

"  Now  take  ye  down  my  cloak  of  red, 
Let  it  lie  on  the  earth  a-cold  ; 
Had  I  ten  lives  of  the  world  for  one. 
Nought  of  them  all  would  I  hold." 

II 


1 62  HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY. 

King  Siward  looked  out  of  his  window  fair 
In  fearful  mood  enov/. 
For  he  saw  Haf  bur  hanging  on  oak 
And  Signy's  bower  on  a  low. 

Out  then  spake  a  little  page 

Was  clad  in  kirtle  red : 

"  Sweet  Signy  burns  in  her  bower  aloft. 

With  all  her  mays  unwed." 

Therewithal  spake  King  Siward 
From  rueful  heart  unfain  : 
"  Ne'er  saw  I  two  King's  children  erst 
Such  piteous  ending  gain. 

"  But  had  I  wist  or  heard  it  told 
That  love  so  strong  should  be. 
Ne'er  had  1  held  those  twain  apart 
For  all  Denmark  given  me. 

"O  hasten  and  run  to  Signy's  bower 
For  the  life  of  that  sweet  thing; 
Hasten  and  run  to  the  gallows  high. 
No  thief  is  Haf  bur  the  King." 

But  when  they  came  to  Signy's  bower 
Low  it  lay  in  embers  red  ; 
And  when  they  came  to  the  gallows  tree, 
Hafbur  was  stark  and  dead. 

They  took  him  the  King's  son  Hafbur, 
Swathed  him  in  linen  white, 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  1 63 


And  laid  him  in  tlie  earth  of  Christ 
By  Signy  his  delight. 
O  wilt  thou  win  me  then., 
or  as  fair  a  maid  as  I  be? 


GOLDILOCKS   AND    GOLDILOCKS. 

IT  was  Goldilocks  woke  up  in  the  morn 
At  the  first  of  the  shearing  of  the  corn. 

There  stood  his  mother  on  the  hearth 
And  of  new-leased  wheat  was  little  dearth. 

There  stood  his  sisters  by  the  quern, 

For  the  high-noon  cakes  they  needs  must  earn. 

"  O  tell  me  Goldilocks  my  son, 
Why  hast  thou  coloured  raiment  on  ?  " 

**Why  should  I  wear  the  hodden  grey 
"When  I  am  light  of  heart  to-day  ?  " 

"O  tell  us,  brother,  why  ye  wear 
In  reaping-tide  the  scarlet  gear? 

Why  hangeth  the  sharp  sword  at  thy  side 
When  through  the  land  't  is  the  hook  goes  wide  ? 

"  Gay-clad  am  I  that  men  may  know 
The  freeman's  son  where'er  I  go. 


164         GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

The  grinded  sword  at  side  I  bear 
Lest  I  the  dastard's  word  should  hear." 

"  O  tell  me  Goldilocks  my  son, 

Of  whither  away  thou  wilt  be  gone  ?  " 

*'  The  morn  is  fair  and  the  world  is  wide 
And  here  no  more  will  I  abide." 

"  O  Brother,  when  wilt  thou  come  again  ?  " 
"  The  autumn  drought,  and  the  winter  rain. 

The  frost  and  the  snow,  and  St.  David's  wind, 
All  these  that  were  time  out  of  mind, 

All  these  a  many  times  shall  be 
Ere  the  Upland  Town  again  I  see." 

"  O  Goldilocks  my  son,  farewell, 

As  thou  wendest  the  world  'twixt  home  and  hell  !  " 

"  O  brother  Goldilocks,  farewell. 
Come  back  with  a  tale  for  men  to  tell !  " 


So  'tis  wellaway  for  Goldilocks, 

As  he  left  the  land  of  the  wheaten  shocks. 

He's  gotten  him  far  from  the  Upland  Town, 
And  he's  gone  by  Dale  and  he's  gone  by  Down. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  16' 

He's  come  to  the  wild-wood  dark  and  drear, 
Where  never  the  bird's  song  doth  he  hear. 

He  has  slept  in  the  moonless  wood  and  dim 
With  never  a  voice  to  comfort  him. 

He  has  risen  up  under  the  little  light 

Where  the  noon  is  as  dark  as  the  summer  night. 

Six  days  therein  has  he  walked  alone 

Till  his  scrip  was  bare  and  his  meat  was  done. 

On  the  seventh  morn  in  the  mirk,  mirk  wood. 
He  saw  sight  that  he  deemed  was  good. 

It  was  as  one  sees  a  flower  a-bloom 
In  the  dusky  heat  of  a  shuttered  room. 

He  deemed  the  fair  thing  far  aloof, 
And  would  go  and  put  it  to  the  proof. 

But  the  very  first  step  he  made  from  the  place 
He  met  a  maiden  face  to  face. 

Face  to  face,  and  so  close  was  she 
That  their  lips  met  soft  and  lovingly. 

Sweet-mouthed  she  was,  and  fair  he  wist; 
And  again  in  the  darksome  wood  they  kissed. 

Then  first  in  the  wood  her  voice  he  heard. 
As  sweet  as  the  song  of  the  summer  bird. 


1 66         GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

"  O  thou  fair  man  with  the  golden  head, 
What  is  the  name  of  thee  ?  "   she  said. 

"  My  name  is  Goldilocks,"  said  he  ; 

"  O  sv/eet-breathed,  what  is  the  name  of  thee  ?  " 

"  O  Goldilocks  the  Swain,"  she  said, 
"  My  name  is  Goldilocks  the  Maid." 

He  spake,  "  Love  me  as  I  love  thee, 
And  Goldilocks  one  flesh  shall  be." 

She  said,  "  Fair  man,  I  wot  not  how 
Thou  lovest,  but  I  love  thee  now. 

But  come  a  little  hence  away. 
That  I  may  see  thee  in  the  day. 

For  hereby  is  a  wood-lawn  clear 
And  good  for  awhile  for  us  it  were." 

Therewith  she  took  him  by  the  hand 
And  led  him  into  the  lighter  land. 


There  on  the  grass  they  sat  adown. 
Clad  she  was  in  a  kirtle  brown. 

In  all  the  world  was  never  maid 
So  fair,  so  evilly  arrayed. 

No  shoes  upon  her  feet  she  had 
And  scantly  were  her  shoulders  clad  ; 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCICS.  1 67 

Through  her  brown  kirtle's  rents  full  wide 
Shone  out  the  sleekness  of  her  side. 

An  old  scrip  hung  about  her  neck. 
Nought  of  her  raiment  did  she  reck. 

No  shame  of  all  her  rents  had  she; 
She  gazed  upon  him  eagerly. 

She  leaned  across  the  grassy  space 
And  put  her  hands  about  his  face. 

She  said:    "O  hunger-pale  art  thou, 

Yet  shalt  thou  eat  though  I  hunger  now." 

She  took  him  apples  from  her  scrip, 
She  kissed  him,  cheek  and  chin  and  lip. 

She  took  him  cakes  of  woodland  bread: 
"Whiles  am  I  hunger-pinched,"  she  said. 

She  had  a  gourd  and  a  pilgrim  shell ; 
She  took  him  water  from  the  well. 

She  stroked  his  breast  and  his  scarlet  gear ; 
She  spake,  "  How  brave  thou  art  and  dear  1  " 

Her  arms  about  him  did  she  wind; 
He  felt  her  body  dear  and  kind. 


"O  love,"  she  said,  "now  two  are  one. 
And  v/nither  hence  shall  we  be  gone  ?  " 


1 68  GOLDILOCKS  AiXD   GOLDILOCKS. 

"  Shall  we  fare  further  than  this  wood," 
Quoth  he,  "  I  deem  it  dear  and  good  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  laughed,  and  spake ; 
''  Rise  up  !    For  thee,  not  me,  1  quake. 

Had  she  been  minded  me  to  slay- 
Sure  she  had  done  it  ere  to-day. 

But  thou  :   this  hour  the  crone  shall  know 
That  thou  art  come,  her  very  foe. 

No  minute  more  on  tidings  wait, 
Lest  e'en  this  minute  be  too  late." 

She  led  him  from  the  sunlit  green, 
Going  sweet-stately  as  a  queen. 

There  in  the  dusky  wood,  and  dim. 
As  forth  they  went,  she  spake  to  him : 

"  Fair  man,  few  people  have  I  seen 
Amidst  this  world  of  woodland  green: 

But  I  would  have  thee  tell  me  now 
If  there  be  many  such  as  thou." 

"  Betwixt  the  mountains  and  the  sea, 
O  Sweet,  be  many  such,"  said  he. 

Athwart  the  glimmering  air  and  dim 
With  wistful  eyes  she  looked  on  him. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  1 69 

*'  But  ne'er  an  one  so  shapely  made 
Mine  eyes  have  looked  upon,"  she  said. 

He  kissed  her  face,  and  cried  in  mirth  : 

"  Where  hast  thou  dwelt  then  on  the  earth  ?  " 

"  Ever,"  she  said,  "  I  dwell  alone 
With  a  hard-handed  cruel  crone. 

And  of  this  crone  am  I  the  thrall 
To  serve  her  still  in  bower  and  hall ; 

And  fetch  and  carry  in  the  wood. 
And  do  whate'er  she  deemeth  good. 

But  whiles  a  sort  of  folk  there  come 
And  seek  my  mistress  at  her  home ; 

But  such-like  are  they  to  behold 
As  make  my  very  blood  run  cold. 

Oft  have  I  thought,  if  there  be  none 

On  earth  save  these,  would  all  were  done  ! 

Forsooth,  I  knew  it  was  nought  so. 
But  that  fairer  folk  on  earth  did  grow. 

But  fain  and  full  is  the  heart  in  me 
To  know  that  folk  are  like  to  thee," 

Then  hand  in  hand  they  stood  awhile 
Till  her  tears  rose  up  beneath  his  smile. 


lyo        GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

And  he  must  fold  her  to  his  breast 
To  give  her  heart  a  while  of  rest. 

Till  sundered  she  and  gazed  about, 
And  bent  her  brows  as  one  in  doubt. 

She  spake:    "The  wood  is  growing  thin. 
Into  the  full  light  soon  shall  we  win. 

Now  crouch  we  that  we  be  not  seen, 
Under  yon  bramble-bushes  green." 

Under  the  bramble-bush  they  lay 
Betwixt  the  dusk  and  the  open  day. 


"  O  Goldilocks  my  love,  look  forth 

And  let  me  knov/  what  thou  seest  of  worth," 

He  said:    "I  see  a  house  of  stone, 
A  castle  excellently  done." 

"Yea,"  quoth  she,  "There  doth  the  mistress  dwell 
What  next  thou  seest  shalt  thou  tell." 

"What  lookest  thou  to  see  come  forth  ? 
"  Maybe  a  white  bear  of  the  North." 

"Then  shall  my  sharp  sword  lock  his  mouth." 
"Nay,"  she  said,  "or  a  worm  of  the  South." 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  171 

"Then  shall  my  sword  his  hot  blood  cool." 
"  Nay,  or  a  whelming  poison-pool." 

"The  trees  its  swelling  flood  shall  stay. 
And  thrust  its  venomed  lip  away." 

"  Nay,  it  may  be  a  wild-fire  flash 
To  burn  thy  lovely  limbs  to  ash." 

"  On  mine  own  hallows  shall  I  call. 
And  dead  its  flickering  flame  shall  fall." 

"  O  Goldilocks  my  love,  I  fear 
That  ugly  death  shall  seek  us  here. 

Look  forth,  O  Goldilocks  my  love. 
That  I  thine  hardy  heart  may  prove. 

What  Cometh  down  the  stone-wrought  stair 
That  leadeth  up  to  the  castle  fair  1 " 

"  Adown  the  doorward  stair  of  stone 
There  cometh  a  woman  all  alone." 

"Yea,  that  forsooth  shall  my  mistress  be: 
O  Goldilocks,  what  like  is  she?" 

"  O  fair  she  is  of  her  array. 

As  hitherward  she  wends  her  way." 

"  Unlike  her  wont  is  that  indeed  : 
Is  she  not  foul  beneath  her  weed  ?  " 


172  GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

"  O  nay,  nay  !    But  most  wondrous  fair 
Of  all  the  women  earth  doth  bear." 

"  O  Goldilocks,  my  heart,  my  heart ! 
Woe,  woe  !   for  now  we  drift  apart." 

But  up  he  sprang  from  the  bramble-side, 
And  "  O  thou  fairest  one  !  "  he  cried  : 

And  forth  he  ran  that  Queen  to  meet, 
And  fell  before  her  gold-clad  feet. 

About  his  neck  her  arms  she  cast, 

And  into  the  fair-built  house  they  passed. 

And  under  the  bramble-bushes  lay 
Unholpen,  Goldilocks  the  may. 


Thenceforth  a  while  of  time  there  wore, 
And  Goldilocks  came  forth  no  more. 

Throughout  that  house  he  wandered  wide, 
Both  up  and  down,  from  side  to  side. 

But  never  he  saw  an  evil  crone. 

But  a  full  fair  Queen  on  a  golden  throne. 

Never  a  barefoot  maid  did  he  see, 
But  a  gay  and  gallant  company. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  I  73 

He  sat  upon  the  golden  throne, 
And  beside  him  sat  the  Queen  alone. 

Kind  she  was,  as  she  loved  him  well. 
And  many  a  merry  tale  did  tell. 

But  nought  he  laughed,  nor  spake  again. 
For  all  his  life  was  waste  and  vain. 

Cold  was  his  heart,  and  all  afraid 
To  think  on  Goldilocks  the  Maid. 


Withal  now  was  the  wedding  dight 
When  he  should  wed  that  lady  bright. 

The  night  was  gone,  and  the  day  was  up 
When  they  should  drink  the  bridal  cup. 

And  he  sat  at  the  board  beside  the  Queen, 
Amidst  of  a  guest-folk  well  beseen. 

But  scarce  was  midmorn  on  the  hall. 
When  down  did  the  mirk  of  midnight  fall. 

Then  up  and  down  from  the  board  they  ran, 
And  man  laid  angry  hand  on  man. 

There  was  the  cry,  and  the  laughter  shrill, 
And  every  manner  word  of  ill. 


174  GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

Whoso  of  men  had  hearkened  it. 

Had  deemed  he  had  woke  up  over  the  Pit. 

Then  spake  the  Queen  o'er  all  the  crowd, 
And  grim  was  her  speech,  and  harsh,  and  loud: 

"  Hold  now  your  peace,  ye  routing  swine. 
While  I  sit  with  mine  own  love  over  the  wine  ! 

For  this  dusk  is  the  very  deed  of  a  foe. 
Or  under  the  sun  no  man  I  know." 

And  hard  she  spake,  and  loud  she  cried 

Till  the  noise  of  the  bickering  guests  had  died. 

Then  again  she  spake  amidst  of  the  mirk, 
In  a  voice  like  an  unoiled  wheel  at  work: 

"  Whoso  would  have  a  goodly  gift, 
Let  him  bring  aback  the  sun  to  the  lift. 

Let  him  bring  aback  the  light  and  the  day, 
And  rich  and  in  peace  he  shall  go  his  way." 

Out  spake  a  voice  was  clean  and  clear : 
"  Lo,  I  am  she  to  dight  your  gear ; 

But  I  for  the  deed  a  gift  shall  gain, 
To  sit  by  Goldilocks  the  Swain. 

I  shall  sit  at  the  board  by  the  bride-groom's  side, 
And  be  betwixt  him  and  the  bride. 


GOLDILOCKS  AKD   GOLDILOCKS. 


175 


I  shall  eat  of  his  dish,  and  drink  of  his  cup, 
Until  for  the  bride-bed  ye  rise  up." 

Then  was  the  Queen's  word  wailing-wild : 
*'  E'en  so  must  it  be,  thou  Angel's  child. 

Thou  shalt  sit  by  my  groom  till  the  dawn  of  night, 
And  then  shalt  thou  wend  thy  ways  aright." 

Said  the  voice,  "  Yet  shalt  thou  swear  an  oath 
That  free  I  shall  go  though  ye  be  loth." 

"  How  shall  I  swear?  "   the  false  Queen  spake: 
"  Wherewith  the  sure  oath  shall  I  make  ?  " 

"  Thou  shalt  swear  by  the  one  eye  left  in  thine  head, 
And  the  throng  of  the  ghosts  of  the  evil  dead." 

She  swore  the  oath,  and  then  she  spake : 
"  Now  let  the  second  dawn  awake." 

And  e'en  therewith  the  thing  was  done; 

There  was  peace  in  the  hall,  and  the  light  of  the  sun. 

And  again  the  Queen  was  calm  and  fair. 
And  courteous  sat  the  guest-folk  there. 

Yet  unto  Goldilocks  it  seemed 
As  if  amidst  the  night  he  dreamed; 

As  if  he  sat  in  a  grassy  place, 

While  slim  hands  framed  his  hungry  face; 


I  76         GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

As  if  in  the  clearing  of  the  wood 
One  gave  him  bread  and  apples  good ; 

And  nought  he  saw  of  the  guest-folk  gay. 
And  nought  of  all  the  Queen's  array. 

Yet  saw  he  betwixt  board  and  door, 
A  slim  maid  tread  the  chequered  floor. 

Her  gown  of  green  so  fair  was  wrought, 
That  clad  her  body  seemed  with  nought 

But  blossoms  of  the  summer-tide. 

That  wreathed  her,  limbs  and  breast  and  side. 

And,  stepping  towards  him  daintily, 
A  basket  in  her  hand  had  she. 

And  as  she  went,  from  head  to  feet, 
Surely  was  she  most  dainty-sweet. 

Love  floated  round  her,  and  her  eyes 
Gazed  from  her  fairness  glad  and  wise; 

But  babbling-loud  the  guests  were  grown ; 
Unnoted  was  she  and  unknown. 


Now  Goldilocks  she  sat  beside, 

But  nothing  changed  was  the  Queenly  bride ; 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  I  77 

Yea  too,  and  Goldilocks  the  Swain 
Was  grown  but  dull  and  dazed  again. 

The  Queen  smiled  o'er  the  guest-rich  board, 
Although  his  wine  the  Maiden  poured; 

Though  from  his  dish  the  Maiden  ate. 
The  Queen  sat  happy  and  sedate. 

But  now  the  Maiden  fell  to  speak 

From  lips  that  well-nigh  touched  his  cheek  : 

"O  Goldilocks,  dost  thou  forget? 
Or  mindest  thou  the  mirk-wood  yet } 

Forgettest  thou  the  hunger-pain 

And  all  thy  young  life  made  but  vain  ? 

How  there  was  nought  to  help  or  aid, 
But  for  poor  Goldilocks  the  Maid?" 

She  murmured,  "  Each  to  each  we  two. 
Our  faces  from  the  wood-mirk  grew. 

Hast  thou  forgot  the  grassy  place. 
And  love  betwixt  us  face  to  face  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot  how  fair  I  deemed 

Thy  face  ?      How  fair  thy  garment  seemed  ? 

Thy  kisses  on  my  shoulders  bare. 
Through  rents  of  the  poor  raiment  there  ? 

12 


178  GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

My  arms  that  loved  thee  nought  unkissed 
All  o'er  from  shoulder  unto  wrist  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot  how  brave  thou  wert. 
Thou  with  thy  fathers'  weapon  girt ; 

When  underneath  the  bramble-bush 
I  quaked  like  river-shaken  rush, 

Wondering  what  new-wrought  shape  of  death 
Should  quench  my  new  love-quickened  breath  ? 

Or  else  :   forget'st  thou,  Goldilocks, 
Thine  own  land  of  the  wheaten  shocks  ? 

Thy  mother  and  thy  sisters  dear, 

Thou  said'st  would  bide  thy  true-love  there? 

Hast  thou  forgot?      Hast  thou  forgot? 
O  love,  my  love,  I  move  thee  not." 


Silent  the  fair  Queen  sat  and  smiled 
And  heeded  nought  the  Angel's  child, 

For  like  an  image  fashioned  fair 
Still  sat  the  Swain  with  empty  stare. 

These  words  seemed  spoken  not,  but  writ 
As  foolish  tales  through  night-dreams  flit. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  I  79 

Vague  pictures  passed  before  his  sight, 
As  in  the  first  dream  of  the  night. 


But  the  Maiden  opened  her  basket  fair. 
And  set  two  doves  on  the  table  there. 

And  soft  they  cooed,  and  sweet  they  billed 
Like  man  and  maid  with  love  fulfilled. 

Therewith  the  Maiden  reached  a  hand 
To  a  dish  that  on  the  board  did  stand ; 

And  she  crumbled  a  share  of  the  spice-loaf  brown. 
And  the  Swain  upon  her  hand  looked  down  ; 

Then  unto  the  fowl  his  eyes  he  turned ; 
And  as  in  a  dream  his  bowels  yearned 

For  somewhat  that  he  could  not  name; 
And  into  his  heart  a  hope  there  came. 

And  still  he  looked  on  the  hands  of  the  Maid, 
As  before  the  fowl  the  crumbs  she  laid. 

And  he  murmured  low,  '*  O  Goldilocks  ! 
Were  we  but  amid  the  wheaten  shocks  !  " 

Then  the  false  Queen  knit  her  brows  and  laid 
A  fair  white  hand  by  the  hand  of  the  Maid. 


I  So  GOLDILOCKS  AND    GOLDILOCKS. 

He  turned  his  eyes  away  thereat, 
And  closer  to  the  Maiden  sat. 


But  the  queen-bird  now  the  carle-bird  fed 
Till  all  was  gone  of  the  sugared  bread. 

Then  with  wheedling  voice  for  more  he  craved, 
And  the  Maid  a  share  from  the  spice-loaf  shaved ; 

And  the  crumbs  within  her  hollow  hand 
She  held  where  the  creeping  doves  did  stand. 

But  Goldilocks,  he  looked  and  longed. 

And  saw  how  the  carle  the  queen-bird  wronged. 

For  when  she  came  to  the  hand  to  eat 
The  hungry  queen-bird  thence  he  beat. 

Then  Goldilocks  the  Swain  spake  low: 
*'  Foul  fall  thee,  bird,  thou  doest  now 

As  I  to  Goldilocks,  my  sweet. 

Who  gave  my  hungry  mouth  to  eat." 

He  felt  her  hand  as  he  did  speak. 
He  felt  her  face  against  his  cheek. 

He  turned  and  stood  in  the  evil  hall, 
And  swept  her  up  in  arms  withal. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  l8l 

Then  was  there  hubbub  wild  and  strange, 
And  swiftly  all  things  there  'gan  change. 

The  fair  Queen  into  a  troll  was  grown, 
A  one-eyed,  bow-backed,  haggard  crone. 

And  though  the  hall  was  yet  full  fair. 
And  bright  the  sunshine  streamed  in  there, 

On  evil  shapes  It  fell  forsooth  : 
.Swine-heads;   small  red  eyes  void  of  ruth; 

And  bare-boned  bodies  of  vile  things. 
And  evil-feathered  bat-felled  wings. 

And  all  these  mopped  and  mowed  and  grinned. 
And  sent  strange  noises  down  the  wind. 

There  stood  those  twain  unchanged  alone 
To  face  the  horror  of  the  crone  ; 

She  crouched  against  them  by  the  board  ; 

And  cried  the  Maid:    *'Thy  sword,  thy  sword! 

Thy  sword,  O  Goldilocks  !    For  see 
She  will  not  keep  her  oath  to  me." 

Out  flashed  the  blade  therewith.      He  saw 
The  foul  thing  sidelong  toward  them  draw. 

Holding  within  her  hand  a  cup 
Wherein  some  dreadful  drink  seethed  up. 


1 82         GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

Then  Goldilocks  cried  out  and  smote, 
And  the  sharp  blade  sheared  the  evil  throat. 

The  head  fell  noseling  to  the  floor ; 
The  liquor  from  the  cup  did  pour, 

And  ran  along  a  sparkling  flame 
That  nigh  unto  their  footsoles  came. 

Then  empty  straightway  was  the  hall, 
Save  for  those  twain,  and  she  withal. 

So  fled  away  the  Maid  and  Man, 
And  down  the  stony  stairway  ran. 


Fast  fled  they  o'er  the  sunny  grass 
Yet  but  a  little  way  did  pass 

Ere  cried  the  Maid  :    *'  Now  cometh  forth 
The  snow-white  ice-bear  of  the  North  ; 

Turn  Goldilocks,  and  heave  up  sword  ! " 
Then  fast  he  stood  upon  the  sward. 

And  faced  the  beast,  that  whined  and  cried, 
And  shook  his  head  from  side  to  side. 

But  round  him  the  Swain  danced  and  leaped, 
And  soon  the  grisly  head  he  reaped. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  183 


And  then  the  ancient  blade  he  sheathed. 
And  ran  unto  his  love  sweet-breathed 

And  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  ran 
Fast  from  that  house,  the  bane  of  man. 


Yet  therewithal  he  spake  her  soft 
And  kissed  her  over  oft  and  oft, 

Until  from  kissed  and  tremblingr  mouth 
She  cried  :    "  The  Dragon  of  the  South  !  " 

He  set  her  down  and  turned  about. 
And  drew  the  eager  edges  out. 

And  therewith  scaly  coil  on  coil 
Reared  'gainst  his  face  the  mouth  aboil : 

The  gaping  jaw  and  teeth  of  dread 
Was  dark  'twixt  heaven  and  his  head. 

But  with  no  fear,  no  thought,  no  word, 
He  thrust  the  thin-edged  ancient  sword. 

And  the  hot  blood  ran  from  the  hairy  throat, 
And  set  the  summer  grass  afloat. 

Then  back  he  turned  and  caught  her  hand, 
And  never  a  minute  did  they  stand. 


184  GOLDILOCKS  AND    GOLDILOCKS. 

But  as  they  ran  on  toward  the  wood, 
He  deemed  her  swift  feet  fair  and  good. 


She  looked  back  o'er  her  shoulder  fair : 
"The  whelming  poison-pool  is  here; 

And  now  availeth  nought  the  blade : 
O  if  my  cherished  trees  might  aid! 

But  now  my  feet  fail.      Leave  me  then  1 
And  hold  my  memory  dear  of  men." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  again ; 
Of  her  dear  side  was  he  full  fain. 

Her  body  in  his  arms  was  dear : 

*'  Sweet  art  thou,  though  we  perish  here  ! 

Like  quicksilver  came  on  the  flood: 
But  lo,  the  borders  of  the  wood  ! 

She  slid  from  out  his  arms  and  stayed  ; 
Round  a  great  oak  her  arms  she  laid. 

"If  e'er  I  saved  thee,  lovely  tree, 
From  axe  and  saw,  now  succour  me : 

Look  how  the  venom  creeps  anigh. 
Help  !   lest  thou  see  me  writhe  and  die." 


GOLDILOCKS  AND    GOLDILOCKS.  1 85 

She  crouched  beside  the  upheaved  root, 
The  bubbling  venom  touched  her  foot ; 

Then  with  a  sucking  gasping  sound 
It  ebbed  back  o'er  the  blighted  ground. 


Up  then  she  rose  and  took  his  hand 
And  never  a  moment  did  they  stand. 

"  Come,  love,"  she  cried,  "  the  ways  I  know. 
How  thick  soe'er  the  thickets  grow. 

O  love,  I  love  thee  !    O  thine  heart ! 
How  mighty  and  how  kind  thou  art !  " 

Therewith  they  saw  the  tree-dusk  lit. 
Bright  grey  the  great  boles  gleamed  on  it. 

"O  flee,"  she  said,  "the  sword  is  nought 
Against  the  flickering  fire-flaught." 

"  But  this  availeth  yet,"  said  he, 
"That  Hallows  All  our  love  may  see.'* 

He  turned  about  and  faced  the  glare: 
"  O  Mother,  help  us,  kind  and  fair ! 

Now  help  me,  true  St.  Nicholas, 
If  ever  truly  thine  I  was  !  " 


1 86         GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS, 

Therewith  the  wild-fire  waned  and  paled 
And  in  the  wood  the  light  nigh  failed ; 

And  all  about  'twas  as  the  night. 
He  said  :   "  Now  won  is  all  our  fight. 

And  now  meseems  all  were  but  good 

If  thou  mightst  bring  us  from  the  wood." 

She  fawned  upon  him,  face  and  breast ; 
She  said :    "It  hangs  'twixt  worst  and  best. 

And  yet,  O  love,  if  thou  be  true, 
One  thing  alone  thou  hast  to  do." 

Sweetly  he  kissed  her,  cheek  and  chin  : 
"  What  work  thou  biddest  will  I  win." 

"  O  love,  my  love,  I  needs  must  sleep  ; 
Wilt  thou  my  slumbering  body  keep. 

And,  toiling  sorely,  still  bear  on 

The  love  thou  seemest  to  have  won  ?  " 

"O  easy  toil,"  he  said,  "to  bless 
Mine  arms  with  all  thy  loveliness." 

She  smiled;    "Yea,  easy  it  may  seem. 
But  harder  is  it  than  ye  deem. 

For  hearken  !   Whatso  thou  mayst  see 
Piteous  as  it  may  seem  to  thee, 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  187 

Heed  not  nor  hearken  !   bear  me  forth, 

As  though  nought  else  were  aught  of  worth. 

For  all  earth's  wealth  that  may  be  found 
Lay  me  not  sleeping  on  the  ground, 

To  help,  to  hinder,  or  to  save  ! 

Or  there  for  me  thou  diggest  a  grave." 


He  took  her  body  on  his  arm. 

Her  slumbering  head  lay  on  his  barm. 

Then  glad  he  bore  her  on  the  way. 
And  the  wood  grew  lighter  with  the  day. 

All  still  it  was,  till  suddenly 
He  heard  a  bitter  wail  near  by. 

Yet  on  he  went  until  he  heard 
The  cry  become  a  shapen  word : 

"  Help  me,  O  help,  thou  passer  by  ! 
Turn  from  the  path,  let  me  not  die  ! 

I  am  a  woman  ;   bound  and  left 
To  perish;   of  all  help  bereft." 

Then  died  the  voice  out  in  a  moan ; 
He  looked  upon  his  love,  his  own, 


>-^ 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 


And  minding  all  she  spake  to  him 

Strode  onward  through  the  wild-wood  dim. 


But  lighter  grew  the  woodland  green 
Till  clear  the  shapes  of  things  were  seen. 

And  therewith  wild  halloos  he  heard, 
And  shrieks,  and  cries  of  one  afeard. 

Nigher  it  grew  and  yet  more  nigh 
Till  burst  from  out  a  brake  near  by 

A  woman  bare  of  breast  and  limb, 
Who  turned  a  piteous  face  to  him 

E'en  as  she  ran  :   for  hard  at  heel 
Followed  a  man  with  brandished  steel, 

And  yelling  mouth.     Then  the  swain  stood 
One  moment  in  the  glimmering  wood 

Trembling,  ashamed  :   Yet  now  grown  wise 
Deemed  all  a  snare  for  ears  and  eyes. 

So  onward  swiftlier  still  he  strode 
And  cast  all  thought  on  his  fair  load. 

And  yet  in  but  a  little  space 

Back  came  the  yelling  shrieking  chase. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  189 

And  well-nigh  gripped  now  by  the  man. 
Straight  unto  him  the  woman  ran  ; 

And  underneath  the  gleaming  steel 
E'en  at  his  very  feet  did  kneel. 

She  looked  up ;   sobs  were  all  her  speech, 
Yet  sorely  did  her  face  beseech. 

While  o'er  her  head  the  chaser  stared, 
Shaking  aloft  the  edges  bared. 

Doubted  the  swain,  and  a  while  did  stand 
As  she  took  his  coat-lap  in  her  hand. 

Upon  his  hand  he  felt  her  breath 
Hot  with  the  dread  of  present  death. 

Sleek  was  her  arm  on  his  scarlet  coat. 
The  sobbing  passion  rose  in  his  throat. 

But  e'en  therewith  he  looked  aside 
And  saw  the  face  of  the  sleeping  bride. 

Then  he  tore  his  coat  from  the  woman's  hand. 
And  never  a  moment  there  did  stand. 

But  swiftly  thence  away  he  strode 
Along  the  dusky  forest  road. 

And  there  rose  behind  him  laughter  shrill. 
And  then  was  the  windless  wood  all  still. 


I  go        GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

He  looked  around  o'er  all  the  place, 
But  saw  no  image  of  the  chase. 

And  as  he  looked  the  night-mirk  now 
O'er  all  the  tangled  wood  'gan  flow. 


Then  stirred  the  sweetling  that  he  bore, 

And  she  slid  adown  from  his  arms  once  more. 

Nought  might  he  see  her  well-loved  face ; 
But  he  felt  her  lips  in  the  mirky  place. 

*''Tis  night,"  she  said,  "and  the  false  day's  gone, 
And  we  twain  in  the  wild-wood  all  alone. 

Night  o'er  the  earth ;   so  rest  we  here 
Until  to-morrow's  sun  is  clear. 

For  overcome  is  every  foe 

And  home  to-morrow  shall  we  go." 

So  'neath  the  trees  they  lay,  those  twain, 
And  to  them  the  darksome  night  was  gain. 

But  when  the  morrow's  dawn  was  grey 
They  woke  and  kissed  whereas  they  lay. 

And  when  on  their  feet  they  came  to  stand 
Swain  Goldilocks  stretched  out  his  hand. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  191 

And  he  spake  :    "  O  love,  my  love  indeed, 
Where  now  is  gone  thy  goodly  weed  ? 

For  again  thy  naked  feet  I  see. 

And  thy  sweet  sleek  arms  so  kind  to  me. 

Through  thy  rent  kirtle  once  again 
Thy  shining  shoulder  showeth  plain." 

She  blushed  as  red  as  the  sun-sweet  rose : 
"  My  garments  gay  were  e'en  of  those 

That  the  false  Queen  dight  to  slay  my  heart ; 
And  sore  indeed  was  their  fleshly  smart. 

Yet  must  I  bear  them,  well-beloved. 
Until  thy  truth  and  troth  was  proved. 

And  this  tattered  coat  is  now  for  a  sign 
That  thou  hast  won  me  to  be  thine. 

Now  wilt  thou  lead  along  thy  maid 
To  meet  thy  kindred  unafraid." 

As  stoops  the  falcon  on  the  dove 
He  cast  himself  about  her  love. 

He  kissed  her  over,  cheek  and  chin. 
He  kissed  the  sweetness  of  her  skin. 

Then  hand  in  hand  they  went  their  way 
Till  the  wood  grew  light  with  the  outer  day. 


192 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 


At  last  behind  them  lies  the  wood, 
And  before  are  the  Upland  Acres  good. 

On  the  hill's  brow  awhile  they  stay 
At  midmorn  of  the  merry  day. 

He  sheareth  a  deal  from  his  kirtle  meet. 
To  make  her  sandals  for  her  feet. 

He  windeth  a  wreath  of  the  beechen  tree, 
Lest  men  her  shining  shoulders  see. 

And  a  wreath  of  woodbine  sweet,  to  hide 
The  rended  raiment  of  her  side  ; 

And  a  crown  of  poppies  red  as  wine. 
Lest  on  her  head  the  hot  sun  shine. 

She  kissed  her  love  withal  and  smiled: 

*'  Lead  forth,  O  love,  the  Woodland  Child  ! 

Most  meet  and  right  meseems  it  now 
That  1  am  clad  with  the  woodland  bough. 

For  betwixt  the  oak-tree  and  the  thorn 
Meseemeth  erewhile  was  I  born. 

And  if  my  mother  aught  I  knew 

It  was  of  the  woodland  folk  she  grew. 

And  O  that  thou  art  well  at  ease 
To  wed  the  daughter  of  the  trees  !  " 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  19^ 

Now  Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks 

Go  down  amidst  the  wheaten  shocks, 

But  when  anigh  to  the  town  they  come, 
Lo  there  is  the  wain  a-wending  home, 

And  many  a  man  and  maid  beside, 
Who  tossed  the  sickles  up,  and  cried : 

"  O  Goldilocks,  now  whither  away  ? 

And  what  wilt  thou  with  the  woodland  may  ? "" 

"  O  this  is  Goldilocks  my  bride. 

And  we  come  adown  from  the  wild-wood  side. 

And  unto  the  Fathers*  House  we  wend 
To  dwell  therein  till  life  shall  end." 

"  Up  then  on  the  wain,  that  ye  may  see 
From  afar  how  thy  mother  bideth  thee. 

That  ye  may  see  how  kith  and  kin 
Abide  thee,  bridal  brave  to  win." 

So  Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks 

Sit  high  aloft  on  the  wheaten  shocks, 

And  fair  maids  sing  before  the  wain. 
For  all  of  Goldilocks  are  fain. 


13 


194 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 


But  when  they  came  to  the  Fathers'  door, 
There  stood  his  mother  old  and  hoar. 

Yet  was  her  hair  with  grey  but  blent. 

When  forth  from  the  Upland  Town  he  went. 

There  by  the  door  his  sisters  stood ; 
Full  fair  they  were  and  fresh  of  blood ; 

Little  they  were  when  he  went  away  ; 
Now  each  is  meet  for  a  young  man's  may. 


"  O  tell  me,  Goldilocks,  my  son, 

What  are  the  deeds  that  thou  hast  done  ?  " 

"  I  have  wooed  me  a  wife  in  the  forest  wild. 
And  home  I  bring  the  Woodland  Child." 

"A  little  deed  to  do,  O  son. 

So  long  a  while  as  thou  wert  gone." 

"O  mother,  yet  is  the  summer  here 
Now  I  bring  aback  my  true-love  dear. 

And  therewith  an  Evil  Thing  have  I  slain  ; 
Yet  I  come  with  the  first-come  harvest-wain." 

'*  O  Goldilocks,  my  son,  my  son  ! 

How  good  is  the  deed  that  thou  hast  done  } 


GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS.  1 95 

But  how  long  the  time  that  is  worn  away  ! 
Lo  !   white  is  my  hair  that  was  but  grey. 

And  lo  these  sisters  here,  thine  own, 
How  tall,  how  meet  for  men-folk  grown  ! 

Come,  see  thy  kin  in  the  feasting-hall, 
And  tell  me  if  thou  knowest  them  all ! 

O  son,  O  son,  we  are  blithe  and  fain  ; 

But  the  autumn  drought,  and  the  winter  rain. 

The  frost  and  the  snow,  and  St.  David's  wind, 
All  these  that  were,  time  out  of  mind, 

All  these  a  many  times  have  been 

Since  thou  the  Upland  Town  hast  seen." 


Then  never  a  word  spake  Goldilocks 

Till  they  came  adown  from  the  wheaten  shocks. 

And  there  beside  his  love  he  stood 
And  he  saw  her  body  sweet  and  good. 

Then  round  her  love  his  arms  he  cast: 
"  The  years  are  as  a  tale  gone  past. 

But  many  the  years  that  yet  shall  be 
Of  the  merry  tale  of  thee  and  me. 


196         GOLDILOCKS  AND   GOLDILOCKS. 

Come,  love,  and  look  on  the  Fathers'  Hall, 
And  the  folk  of  the  kindred  one  and  all ! 

For  now  the  Fathers'  House  is  kind. 
And  all  the  ill  is  left  behind. 

And  Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks 

Shall  dwell  in  the  land  of  the  Wheaten  Shocks." 


The  End. 


ME.  WILLIAM  MORRIS'S  WORKS. 
THE    EARTHLY    PARADISE. 

^  (EoIIcctton  of  STaUs  in  Fcrse. 

PARTS   I.  and  II. 

Prologue,  March,  April,  May,  June,  July,  and  August, 
containing  the  Stories  of — 
The  Wanderers.  The  'Writing  on  the  Image. 

Atalanta's  Race.  The  Love  of  Alcestis. 

The  Man  born  to  be  King.  The  Lady  of  the  Land. 

The  Doom  of  King  Acrisius.  The  Son  of  Croesus. 

The  Proud  King.  The  Watching  of  the  Falcon. 

Cupid  and  Psyche.  Pygmalion  and  the  Image. 

Ogier  the  Dane. 

PART   III. 

September,  October,  and  Novembhk,  containing  the  Stories  of — 
The  Death  of  Paris.  The   Man    who    Never   Laughed 

The  Land  East  of  the  Sun  and  Again. 

West  of  the  Moon.  The  Story  of  Rhodope. 

Accontius  and  Cydippe.  The  Lovers  of  Gudrun. 

PART   IV. 

December,  January,  and  February,  Epilogue,  and  L'Envoi, 
containing  the  Stories  of — 
The  Golden  Apples.  The  Ring  given  to  Venus. 

The  Fostering  of  Aslaug.  Bellerophon  in  Lycia. 

Bellerophon  at  Argos.  The  hill  of  Venus. 

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NEWS  FROM  NOWHERE;  or,  An  Epoch  of  Rest.  Being  some 
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THE  STORY  OF  THE  GLITTERING  PLAIN.  Which  has  also  been 
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Mailed,  post-paid,  by  the  Publishers, 

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Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  GLITTERING  PLAIN 

Which  has  also  been  called  the  Land  of  Liv- 
ing Men,  or  the  Acre  of  the  Undying. 
Written  by  William  Morris. 


A  New  Edition,  12mo,  Cloth,  Oxford  Style.    Price,  $1.50. 


It  is  well  to  go  back,  if  but  once  in  a  while,  to  the  spring-heads  of  old  English 
words  and  to  the  good  fashion  of  long  ago  in  story-telling.  In  his  latest  book 
William  Morris,  as  he  did  in  his  "  House  of  the  Wolfinps,"  has  wrought  with 
power  and  Saxon  sturdiness  upon  a  ta'e  of  strong  men  and  fair  women,  of  love, 
of  wandering,  and  of  that  sweet  gain  wherewith  steadfast  honor  and  true  faith- 
fulness are  sometimes  enriched  even  in  our  day,  notwithstanding  what  the 
reahsts  say. 

"  The  Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain  "  is  a  marvel  of  word-work,  and  it  wins  a 
hold  forthwith  upon  the  reader's  heart,  as  earnest  story-telling  always  does. 

There  is  not  much  of  the  rough  and  tumble  daring-do  in  the  story.  All  is 
touched  with  somewhat  of  a  soft,  westering  sunlight  glow  that  saddens  one  a 
little.  Not  one  of  the  men  or  women  is  made  quite  flesh  and  blood,  and  yet  the 
reader  must  needs  go  along  with  Hallblithe  and  enter  into  his  sorrows,  his  hopes, 
his  manly  longings.  What  is  most  enjoyable  from  beginning  to  end  is  the  soft 
flow  of  the  English  speech  in  its  old-day  sunny  freedom  and  joyousness,  —  a 
joyousness  that  in  almost  every  work  bears  a  touch  of  dreamy  hopelessness,  like 
the  light  of  Indian  summer.  We  all  like  to  be  wrought  upon  a  little  by  the  sad- 
ness of  things  that  wear  the  garb  of  loneliness.  William  Morris  knows  this.  He 
made  it  serve  him  in  the  "  Earthly  Paradise"  as  no  other  writer  has  ever  been 
able  to  do,  and  in  this  "  Story  of  the  Land  of  the  Glittering  Plain  "  he  deftly 
breathes  the  afternoon  even  into  the  dewy  wafis  of  morning. 

Of  eating  and  drinking;  of  sweet  maidens  and  strong  men  ;  of  grassv  meads 
and  dusk,  cool  woods;  of  merriness  and  love  and  stark  sorrow;  of  youth  lusty, 
and  of  old  age  grim  and  shrunken,  the  story  is  so  woven  that  all  of  these  blend 
into  one  soft,  sliimmering  dream  of  life  far  withdrawn  into  the  long  ago.  We 
would  not  have  all  books  written  as  this  is  written  ;  we  give,  however,  fuller 
welcome  to  the  "Story  of  the  Land  of  the  Glittering  Plain"  because  few  story- 
tellers of  this  day  are  willing  to  be  mere  makers  of  tales;  and  who  shall  sav, 
after  all,  that  the  tale-makers  are  not  greater  and  better  than  the  soul-harassers 
who  draw  life  in  black  with  a  finger  dabbled  first  in  filth. 

Choosing  our  words  somewhat  as  William  Morris  has  chosen  his,  we  would 
bid  all  men  that  are  good  and  strong  and  all  women  that  are  loving  and  fair  to 
read  this  "  Story  of  the  Land  of  the  Glittering  Plain." — Frojit  a  review  by 
tfte  New  York  Independent. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Al ailed.,  postpaid,  ott  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston. 


•SO-7 


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